Seize the Fire
by Tanniel
Summary: Imagine Voldemort avoided complex plans and simply returned to life and power as swiftly as he could. Imagine Dumbledore warning Harry of this, giving him time to prepare and taking a more active role. Imagine Harry learning all he can and taking all precautions. Imagine powerful duels, clever schemes, malicious revenge and much more as the story of Harry unfolds in but one year.
1. Prologue

**Author's note:** _Welcome to my attempt at a fanfic. At the posting of this first chapter, about 79,000 words are finished; I figured I'd start uploading and see what people thought. Hopefully if it garners reading and reviews, it's a sign that it's worth finishing (if anybody takes the time to read my story, I have no intention of disappointing by not finishing it; we all know the bitterness of an unfinished fanfic or just story that we grew to care about). The rest of the storyline is planned out, it's just a matter of actually writing it. The benefit of this is of course that I've been able to prepare plot twists far in advance, and sprinkle clues and hints everywhere. For the careful reader I hope to yield plenty of rewards.  
The set-up is that this takes place in Harry's fifth year, with no shenanigans of any kind having taken place in the first four years. Moody is DADA teacher, nobody's died, escaped from Azkaban, opened Chambers etc. That changes, obviously, in this Harry's fifth year. The reasoning behind this fanfic is trying to portray various characters differently, as well as their relationship with each other. Primarily cast Harry as less passive, but somebody who takes action as soon as he learns the truth about Voldemort. And cast Dumbledore as somebody who proactively tells Harry the truth and prepares him, as well as taking a more active role himself. I also wanted to really explore the friendships between the characters. Prod it and tap it for all it's worth. While I can take no credit for the actual characters themselves, I hope to do a great job of characterising them, so to say; make you fall in love all over again with these characters, their struggles and hardships and their friendship._

* * *

**Prologue**

Harry punched the sand bag repeatedly in the recurring patterns he had seen Dudley do. His cousin would not on purpose deign to show any of his boxing training to Harry, but he caught some glimpses and the basic motions were easy enough to grasp. Dudley had protested loudly the first time he had seen Harry use his equipment, but the threat of turning him into a pig had silenced him. He still remembered what had happened in that cabin on Harry's 11th birthday. So now Harry exercised, having little else to do with his time. His summers at the Dursleys had become protracted wars of attrition, the attrition being inflicted on the nerves of the combatants. Vernon and Petunia no longer felt secure enough to demand that Harry made chores, except for light ones such as doing the dishes on occasion, which Harry in all fairness did not feel he could refuse. Instead they simply made remarks that were subtle insults and stabs at Harry, his status as an orphan and, in their eyes, freak. Harry wavered between responding with complete silence and occasional outbursts that returned fire, i.e. insulting the Dursleys in turn.

On the evening before his birthday, after another prolonged siege on his mental stability, Harry had gone down into the basement to punch the living daylights out of a bag reinforced by sand. It did not mind, it had endured such treatment most nights ever since Harry had to return to his relatives for the summer. Not that every night was a trench warfare like this night; but even on days with a cease-fire in effect, Harry found himself completely bored with nothing to do. He had read all the books he had brought with him, but they only stimulated his longing for the magic world and how he felt homesick for Hogwarts. Being unable to practice magic because he was under-age gnawed at him, and seemed the worst law yet made by the Ministry. He was barred from magic, from the magic world, and only with owls to keep him in contact with his friends. Though he hid it as best he could to ensure it was not used against him, hid it so well he hardly believed it himself anymore, Harry missed the company of his friends. He had grown up lonely, and thought he could handle the few months each year where he was subjected to it again; but having tasted how true companionship could be, he found its absence very bitter.

And thus punch, punch, punch. It had not done much for his physique, Harry knew disappointedly when he had looked at himself in the mirror. He had never been overweight to begin with, so it was not as if there had been any weight to shed. He could feel the effect though, how his body had become accustomed to the exertion and was far more adjusted to it. Although he felt sore after a round in the basement, he was not aching the same way before.

"Will you stop that racket!" came the loud, squealing sounds of his uncle. "I don't recall anybody giving you permission to use that, and I will not have you banging loudly while I'm watching TV."

Harry turned around with his customary cold glance in his eyes. "Turn up the volume," he said simply.

Vernon's face grew even redder, and his pig-like eyes bulged between layers of fat. "How dare you speak that way to me, boy!" He inhaled in preparation for a torrent of defamation, and Harry quickly seized the initiative.

"Is it really wise to antagonise a wizard this way, _uncle_?" Harry's sneer at the last word made his opinion on such a family relation obvious.

"You're under-age," Vernon puffed. "You're not allowed to do magic!"

"Not yet," Harry countered, his cold demeanour increasingly in contrast with Vernon's temper. "Two years to go. But I have a good memory, uncle Vernon. You can't hurt me right now, and I can't hurt you. And when I'm 17, you still won't be able to hurt me. But there'll be no such restrictions on me."

"You, you can't!" Vernon yelled. "There's police, and those - those weird people you keep company have laws too! You can't walk around assaulting people with, with your unnatural abilities!"

"It's true, there are laws. They would get here and return things to normal, when I was done. But they can't foresee the future; they won't know what I have done until after I've done it - and there are limits to how far magic can be reversed," Harry said, enjoying the squeamish look on Vernon's face when the word 'magic' was spoken.

"You wouldn't," Vernon said, his voice now closer to a whisper.

"Don't test me again, and you won't have to find out," Harry said, and turned around to resume his exercises. Behind him, he heard the door close after Vernon, and he allowed himself a smile.

The following day Harry woke with a smile too, knowing it was his birthday. And that meant owls, some with gifts, but more importantly with letters. Although he had by now acquired a host of quill pals, who wrote to him frequently during the summer, Harry always felt starved for more letters. And soon they arrived. Hagrid came first, the poor owl dragging a heavy object that Harry almost dropped when it was placed in his hands. He unwrapped it and saw it was diamond-shaped, leathery on one side and hard as steel on the other. He eagerly picked up the letter and read it.

_Harry, my boy, happy birthday! 15, by old wizard law you're a man now! No longer just the last scion of House Potter, but in fact its head. If Hogwarts didn't lay claim to you for 3 more years, you'd have your own seat in the Wizengamot right now! Fancy that, I bet you'd end up succeeding old Dumbledore if you wanted to. But that's for another time, now about your present. Did you unwrap it already? I hope so, because I am going to tell you now what it is. Of course, if you have read your books on caretaking of magical creatures, you should know already. It's the scale of a dragon, Harry, and very fresh. Not that these things get old, that thing will be fine for centuries. You can use it in potions, well, if you can manage to break a piece off! Hard as rock, dragon scales are. In the old times, some had them made into shields too - just goes to show you how all sorts of useful stuff can be got from magical creatures.  
Happy birthday, from Hagrid_

It was with some trepidation that Harry wondered how Hagrid had acquired a dragon scale; hopefully he had not begun something akin to breeding dragons in the Forbidden Forest, or adopted one as his pet. However sturdy Hogwarts was, even it might find it difficult to repel dragon fire. Especially with its groundskeeper insisting that the thing not be harmed, it was still a child etc. etc. Harry smiled a little at the image before he picked up the scale again. It was a very interesting thing, and Harry understood Hagrid's fascination with it; but he had to admit, he was unsure how it would ever come into use, even as a potion reagent considering it did not seem one could put a dent into it.

There was a brief note from Dumbledore.

_Congratulations, Harry. My present should arrive on your doorstep sometime today._

Harry wondered a moment, then shrugged. It would appear that the mystery would solve itself in time. Ron's present was pretty straight forward, consisting entirely of edible goods of the sugared persuasion, which he suspected Mrs. Weasley had a strong hand in. There was also a nice card signed on the back by the various members of the family bringing him their well-wishes. On the front was a photo of the entire red-haired menace in front of the pyramids, where they were currently on holiday. Ron's last letter had explained how his father had won a prize, some kind of lottery apparently. Also, Scabbers had run off, which Ron seemed fairly at peace with. Harry's own suspicion was that the rat had dragged itself under a cupboard to die and would turn up during spring cleaning, giving Mrs. Weasley a nasty shock.

There were also a note from Remus Lupin, who had served as the teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts during Harry's third year. An old friend of Harry's father, naturally he had favoured Harry - as was customary for anybody who had been friends with the parents of the orphan. Despite this, Lupin had been an excellent teacher and tutored Harry in various extra-curricular spells, curses and wards. Unfortunately, it had somehow become common knowledge that Lupin was a werewolf, and within days Dumbledore had been forced to sack him. Harry had not seen Lupin since then, and only kept in touch via owl correspondence. Lupin's gift was, quite sensibly, a sneakoscope.

When Harry was finished, he realised one was missing. He went through the pile of letters, then opened his window and gazed for another owls. Realising that she might have used Muggle mail given the Dursley's hatred towards owls, he checked for any letters that had arrived by postman. Disappointed in every effort, Harry stopped to think if Hermione could have forgotten his birthday. He felt a pang in his stomach, before he did his best to dismiss the notion. She memorised every spell she came close to, she would not forget. Sometimes, mail got lost, even owl mail - at least Harry assumed so. Besides, it was not as if he had done something special for her last birthday; he had found a book that seemed both rare and thus hard to obtain, and with a topic to interest her - lost magical artefacts throughout the ages. He could not expect her to make much out of his birthday. And even if she had forgotten, she would remember tomorrow, and send him a letter then, Harry was sure. Although, it had been more than a week since she had last written, 10 days in fact, and that was even though she had returned from holiday with her parents.

Harry stepped outside into the garden, noticing that another friend was there. A black dog which had appeared earlier this summer, and seemed to hang around. Harry was not sure why any animal would like this place, but he did not mind. He had on occasion smuggled some food out for the beast, and now as he had done before he spent a while scratching its head. Something about the mute attention of an animal always made things seem a little better, though Harry could not say why. Eventually he went inside again, and some hours passed until noon, which Harry spent in the basement. When he was done, he felt that his head was as drained as his body, and the warm shower afterwards was like a balm to his muscles. Returning to his room, he opened the cupboard to look at what his wardrobe contained. A part of him felt that on his birthday, he should dress nice; the rest of him was keenly aware that since nothing would happen, dressing up seemed rather pointless. With an inward sigh he settled for the customary jeans and t-shirt, picking up his birthday letters to read them again. He had been through them all at least once, when he heard the doorbell ringing. Having Dumbledore's note in his hand, Harry leapt to his feet and raced towards the stairs. To his chagrin, he saw his aunt already in the foyer; Harry had no idea what the surprise might be, but coming from the most powerful wizard in the world, he doubted that Petunia would want to be at the door receiving it.

Harry was right about Petunia, though entirely wrong about what presented itself at the door. He heard her voice before he saw her face, and the shock was obvious on his face. What on earth was Hermione doing here? In the last four years, none of Harry's acquaintances from the magical community had even come close to Privet Drive. But here one of his best friends was, shaking hand with Petunia who was wondering what this girl was doing here. "I'm a friend of Harry's, we're here to pick him up," Hermione said. This only sparked additional questions in Harry's mind, and clearly in Petunia's as well, though she did allow herself to be practically coerced backwards and allow Hermione inside the hall. She quickly spotted Harry standing on the stairs, flashed him a smile and mirrored his movement; as he quickly moved down the stairs, she moved up until they met in a tight hug.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she said, and he realised that he was grinning like a fool. Well, I am one, Harry thought, feeling rather ashamed at having doubted Hermione. Only then did he notice two other people entering as well. He remembered seeing a photo of them once, and even without that advantage he could guess they were Mr. and Mrs. Granger. They quickly introduced themselves as such to Petunia, who stood quite disbelieving. It was clear that she had never even entertained the thought that any might arrive on her doorstep to take Harry with them - the implication that somebody would even want him was too alien to her mind. Fortunately, Vernon quickly appeared by her side, roused by the commotion.

"Look, I don't know what's going on, but Harry's not going anywhere," Vernon said with a malicious glance at his ward. Harry was not sure why; maybe Vernon was afraid to let his nephew out in public, or perhaps he knew the best revenge for the threats Harry made yesterday was by forcing him to stay for as long as he could. Of course, this implied that Vernon had any deciding power in this matter. But before Harry could remind Vernon of yesterday's conversation, Hermione had already taken control.

"Don't worry, it's all been cleared with Dumbledore. Harry, I know it's short notice, but let's pack your things and my dad can help carry your trunk," Hermione said. The name Dumbledore had a bewitching effect; Petunia's face closed together to form a thin line, like had she been forced to suck on a lemon, while Vernon looked like a kettle ready to blow.

Knowing the best thing was to get this done with as soon as possible, Harry wasted no time. He quickly returned to his room, throwing books and clothes into his trunk. Hermione followed, making sure he forgot nothing all the while grinning at how perfect her surprise had been.

"You should have seen the look on your face," she said more than once, and Harry did not begrudge her the victory. Standing in the doorway, feeling perhaps out of place, Mr. Granger spoke nothing until Hermione indicated that his services were needed. Being a dentist was no barrier for strength, and he carried his end of the trunk while Harry took the other. In front of the entire disbelieving Dursley family, for Dudley had joined the audience, Harry waved with smug satisfaction while the Grangers muttered some polite parting words. Harry sympathised with them, especially Mrs. Granger who had been left alone with them in the hall for several minutes.

Once in the car, Hermione and Harry both laughed and she hugged him again out of what seemed like sheer glee.

"Is this what Dumbledore's letter was about? The surprise," Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

"He arranged it with my parents a week ago. You can stay with us for the rest of the holiday. No more Dursleys for this summer," Hermione said, her face growing grim for a moment. Although Harry's familial situation was not a secret to any of his friends, he had a feeling Hermione was the only one who actually understood. Perhaps, being a lonely child, even with caring parents she had an inkling of how it could be. Ron and Ginny, having grown up in what seemed like the utopian household, probably thought that being punished meant only one serving of dessert.

"That's brilliant, Hermione," Harry said, feeling gratitude swelling inside of him. Over the years he had not had much to do with Dumbledore, and did not quite know how to feel about the old wizard. Sure, there were endless tales, but the man was old, with a long white beard, and he never seemed to actually practice any magic. He occasionally called Harry in for a talk, and sent Harry small gifts and letters for his birthday; like a social worker checking up on the child he placed in foster care, or a distant relative.

"Dumbledore doesn't mind the risk, then," Harry said. The old wizard had explained the ancient ritual that kept him safe as long as he was with his blood relatives; as much as Harry hated how it made him feel chained to the Dursleys, he could not argue against its effectiveness. Hermione shook her head.

"He said that he thought it would be best for you; no sense in keeping you safe if it doesn't keep you sane," she said, and Harry wondered if that was her choice of words or Dumbledore's. Realising that the Grangers were being very hospitable to him, he leaned forward from the backseat and gave his thanks to Hermione's parents.

"It is very kind of you to let me stay," Harry said. "I am very grateful for your troubles, and if I can return any favour I would be glad to do so." He had learned long ago that adults did not always expect politeness from children or teens, and were always pleasantly surprised to find it. It tended to make them favourably disposed towards you.

"No trouble at all, dear," Mrs. Granger said. Harry could see some of Hermione in her, the same pretty smile though her troublesome hair was definitely a paternal trait. Mr. Granger made some gruff noise that seemed to affirm his wife's statement.

"Hermione speaks so well of you, and we're very happy to get a visit from one of her friends." Hermione leaned over and whispered into his ear.  
"Also, they got a letter from Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump etc. etc. After the titles alone they were so impressed, I think they imagine he's the king of magical Britain; he could probably have asked them permission to drill a hole in our front garden to China and they would have given their consent," she snickered.

The Grangers lived as pleasantly as their livelihoods as dentists allowed. A guestroom larger than Harry's own room at the Dursleys was at his disposal, with a bathroom for his use only nearby. Once installed, Hermione's parents let their daughter catch up with her friend and share photos from their holiday, which had involved Czech wizards in Prague. When evening came, then appeared a delicious meal with Harry's favourite dishes, which he suspected was no accident. And a birthday cake towards the end, which for some reason moved Harry more than he had thought it would. For a moment he thought he could imagine how it might have been to grow up in this house; boring, ordinary dentist parents who nonetheless raised their children well, and with somebody like Hermione for a sister rather than Dudley for a cousin. Harry smiled and thanked the Grangers so many times, he thought he managed to make Mrs. Granger blush.

The next days were as blissful as Harry had ever experienced any. It reminded him of the first time he had been freed of the Dursleys, when Hagrid had taken him away and to Hogwarts. Mr. and Mrs. Granger let them do as they please, as long as they joined them for meals. So in the mornings they went out exploring, or swimming in the local waterhole (Harry borrowed some trunks from Hermione's father). Harry actually never really learned how to swim properly, but as soon as Hermione discovered this, she set down to rectify it. Every morning afterwards they went swimming until Harry grasped the basics, though he had to admit to himself that the sight of Hermione in a swimsuit was a little distracting. Afternoons were spent on longer trips, through the nearby woods or other of Hermione's old haunts. There was a place in the forest where some trees clustered close together to form a kind of natural tree house, where Hermione had often gone as a child. Now she brought Harry with her, making use of the great view the height gave them of the surroundings. Other afternoons, when the sun was so hot it left them lethargic, they spent it in the garden playing games, with the occasional trip to the nearby store for ice cream. The cooler evenings were spent on the porch, talking or reading; naturally, the Grangers had a huge library and Harry, who had rarely been exposed to fiction, was given Hermione's favourite stories one after the other to read. When it grew too dark to read outside, they would usually just continue talking until late night, enjoying how the summer weather allowed them to spend the entire day outside. And when they finally went to bed, it all repeated itself the next day. It seemed all too soon when it was the last day before they had to board the train to Hogwarts.

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**Author's note:**_ The end of the prologue. As you can see, fairly quiet. I wanted to set things up properly and spend some time on characters before we reach the plot. If you find the pacing slow, I hope you'll bear with me and read a few more chapters._


	2. The First Conversation

Harry found for the first time that he was not feeling homesick for Hogwarts; although he looked forward to returning to the castle, he did not mind the wait. Staying with the Grangers had been his first ever taste of what a summer holiday should be like. So it was with some hesitation that he entered Diagon Alley with Hermione to do their final shopping. Getting books took twice as long as necessary, until Harry managed to drag Hermione out of there. Certain potion reagents were required as well, since they were rare and Hogwarts could not supply them to each fifth-year student. Back on the street, a well-known malicious voice called for his attention.

"Potter!" It never ceased to amaze Harry how Malfoy could make a name sound like an insult. He was of course flanked by his usual goons, otherwise he would never have dared any kind of confrontation.

"Malfoy," Harry retorted, speaking as softly as Malfoy had spoken loudly. "No paradise without serpents."

"It's going to end," Malfoy said smugly, apparently unfettered by Harry's stab. "All these years you've lorded over us, it's coming to an end. You're going to get what you deserve!"

Harry clenched his fists. It did not really matter what Malfoy said, his mere presence gave Harry an overpowering urge to beat him into a pulp.

"Be careful you don't beat me to it," Harry said, his intense dislike for the blond boy showing in his voice. "You and your father; they still send dark wizards to Azkaban."

Whatever Malfoy's response to this would have been was unknown, for now Malfoy senior arrived and took a firm grip on his son's shoulders.

"Come along, Draco, it is not seeming to argue like common rabble in the middle of the street," the tall wizard said with a look towards Harry and Hermione that made his thoughts about who was common rabble clear. With a final sneer, Malfoy turned to follow his father and Hermione sighed, though Harry could not tell whether of relief or despair.

"You shouldn't let him get to you," she admonished him.

"I can't help it, I see him, my eyes turn red," Harry muttered.

"What did he mean? His threats are usually not this vague," Hermione said contemplatively. Harry shrugged, having no interest in dwelling on Malfoy's words longer than necessary.

The next day was platform 9 3/4. There were some general reunions taking place all over the station, with Harry observing that not even Egyptian sun could tan Ron's skin. Mrs. Weasley fussed over him and noticed he seemed rather thin, sending a glare at the Grangers. Ginny gave him a hug, the twins slapped his back and soon he was busy exchanging holiday stories with the various people of his year. This was the first year Harry felt he had any stories to bring to the table himself, and he enjoyed retelling the tale of Hermione's march into his relatives' house, leaving them all stumped. Hermione blushed, muttered something unintelligible and entered the train after having made her farewells to her parents. Realising he should as well, Harry approached them and thanked them yet again for the best summer holiday of his life. Mrs. Granger blushed just like her daughter, hugged him and told him he was always welcome. Mr. Granger, a man of few words, shook Harry's hand and repeated his wife's sentiments.

"You're a good lad, Harry, any time you need a place to stay," he said. Harry thanked them again, got his trunk on board with the help of assorted Weasleys and dropped down on his train seat. As always, as soon as he was on the Hogwarts Express, Harry could feel the anticipation tingle. He knew that now he was on his way home.

The train ride was uneventful. Having spent the last days with Hermione, Harry got caught up on the pyramids and Egyptian holidays.

"We got you something," Ron mumbled with his mouth stuffed with chocolate. "From Egypt. Like a talisman," he said. Ginny poked him with her elbow, hissing that he was not supposed to tell what a gift was before it was unwrapped.

"We bought it at a local market. It was supposed to be magic, though I guess so long ago that it's dead," Ginny explained, placing it in his hands. Harry removed the paper around and saw a curious metal object, in the shape of an eye, on a leather string. Hermione, having not taken part of the conversation so far, could not resist snatching it from Harry's fingers to examine it.

"Hey, that's my gift!" Harry protested mockingly.

"Shush, you know I'll give it back," Hermione said, scrutinising it from every angle. "I wonder what this was..."

"Something to ward off evil, like an evil eye," Ron suggested, but a look from Hermione made it clear that this was a rather uneducated guess. Finally she placed it back into Harry's hands and he locked it around his neck.

"Thanks, it's great," Harry said, smiling at the Weasleys in front of him. He suspected it was mostly Ginny's idea, since she smiled back while Ron was busy unpacking his next chocolaty victim.

Finally the castle rose in the horizon. Before long, they were seated in the Great Hall, witnessing the sorting and enjoying the feast menu. Harry almost physically felt his tensions relax, and most of the evening's conversation flew past him. Eventually the evening ended, and they could retire to their dorms. Harry scrupulously unpacked, placing his books in order on his shelf, clothes in drawers and his wand on the small pedestal he had been given once as a gift for that purpose. Hagrid's dragon scale found a place on a window sill, appropriately admired by the others when Harry explained what it was. When he took out Lupin's sneakoscope, however, it immediately went mad with all its gears and wheels spinning. Startled, Harry grabbed for his wand and spun around, seeing only the confused looks of his roommates.

"Either you're being hunted by every wizard in Britain, or that thing's broken," Seamus said dryly.

Ron nodded with a sage-like expression. "Definitely broken."

Harry picked it up in his hand, which only served to increase the frantic pace with which the scope worked. Everybody gathered around to look at it, one or two poked it with their wands, but nothing happened. The excitement died down, and Harry resorted to packing it back into his trunk, wrapped in layers of fabric, mostly socks. With the noise muffled, Harry removed his glasses, put on his sleeping wear and finally lay down in his bed. At the Dursleys he could lie awake for hours on end, but here he barely had time to close his eyes.

Waking early next morning, Harry found a roll of paper that contained the information of his classes. School, Harry thought, the snake of Hogwarts' paradise. Or well, homework; most of the classes taught useful magic and things Harry loved to learn. He just wished his evenings could be spent freely. Unfurling the paper, Harry noticed something wrong. There were the mandatory classes, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defence, Herbology, Astronomy and History of Magic. But his optional subjects were not the ones he had chosen. He still had Divination, but instead of Care of Magical Creatures, he now had Magical Theory. Harry could not even remember that subject as a possibility, as far as he knew it was restricted to sixth years, along with other advanced topics like Alchemy. A smaller note was attached to his paper. It simply read: _For an explanation for your subjects, see the headmaster after class._

Harry went over and showed the note to Ron, who shrugged. "It's not like you'll miss Care of Magical Creatures," he pointed out. True enough, Harry admitted, he had only taken that class because none of the others seemed interesting and this at least pleased Hagrid. In fact, Harry had absolutely no interest in magical creatures, or how to care for them, but he was not sure what on earth Magical Theory would entail, if he would prefer that, or why he had even been admitted to that class. Moving towards breakfast, the pair of friends was joined by their third musketeer in the common room. Harry told Hermione what he had told Ron, and true to her nature she did not dismiss it but immediately speculated why.

"If the headmaster is to explain this to you, it stands to reason he ordered it, or at least consented to it. Otherwise the appropriate teacher or McGonagall would have done it," Hermione said, wondering. "Why would he care about your studies? Apart from whether you're doing well or not..."

"Should I be worried that the headmaster is taking this interest in me?" Harry asked, slightly unnerved. Dumbledore's letters were always brief and to the point, and rarely gave anything away about the man and his intentions.

"Well he did arrange for you to stay with us, so I don't imagine he dislikes you," Hermione argued.

"Or maybe that stay was an apology in advance," Ron countered. "Like he knew he was going to do you a bad turn when you returned to Hogwarts, so he wanted to do something nice for you first, soften the blow."

Harry shot Ron a glance, even more unnerved by what seemed like paranoid reasoning from his usually carefree friend. Of course, someone might be paranoid without necessarily being wrong.

Breakfast proceeded at its usual pace, with only Harry being distracted by the upcoming conversation with Dumbledore. It did not do him much good during classes either; Snape was happy to seize upon Harry's lack of attention and deduct points for a poorly brewed potion, much to Malfoy's delight. In Transfiguration, Harry's block of wood had the kind of resemblance to a chicken that he was reminded of a horror movie he had seen as a child, where a mad scientist had spliced a duck together with a frog. Charms was better; Harry could not explain his fondness for Flitwick, but maybe it was because the man was so tiny and yet wielded such power through his wand. Despite this, and his obvious intellect that had made him head of Ravenclaw, he was enthusiastic about his students and his was the only class of the day where Harry performed well. Every class of History of Magic was sleep-inducing, but the slow minutes crawled even slower when Harry's mind was occupied by what would come after. Finally it was done, and although Harry suspected he did not have to go straight to Dumbledore's office, he wanted an explanation. He agreed to meet up with Ron and Hermione later and then moved along the winding stairs and maze-like corridors that led to the headmaster's office. Outside, a statue in the shape of a gargoyle turned its head and looked at him with its empty eyes. Then, it moved aside, granting Harry passage.

Harry had wondered more than once what kind of magic it was; apparently, the statue was tuned to accept passage of certain people, like the headmaster, teachers, possibly prefects and such, and Harry obviously. Hermione had been made a prefect, to nobody's surprise; he wondered if this meant she was on the exclusive list too. Through the narrow passageway, Harry found himself in Dumbledore's office. Portraits lined the walls, countless objects and artefacts were stashed on every shelf. Harry had always been fascinated by Gryffindor's sword among these, having had a fascination with knights and dragon-slaying as a child. And there was Fawkes, the phoenix. Harry had been in this office a couple of times before, mostly just to answer Dumbledore's questions about his home at the Dursleys, how he had found the transition into the magical world, if his fame bothered him etc. He had thus met Fawkes before, and the phoenix seemed to like him; it allowed him to pet it, anyway. And, Dumbledore had entrusted him, Harry's own wand was powered by one of Fawke's feathers, which meant Harry could not help but like the creature.

A door that Harry had never noticed before opened in the back of the room. Dumbledore stepped through and as soon as he had, the wall returned to once more being lined with shelves. Harry wondered if this was merely practical, or if Dumbledore preferred the door to remain hidden. Either way, the headmaster took a seat and offered Harry the same.

"Harry, I expect you are curious why I had the audacity to change your schedule without consulting you," Dumbledore began. Harry shrugged in what he thought was a confirming way, without being rude.

"I thought Magical Theory would be useful for you to take as a subject, far more than Care of Magical Creatures. Rest assured, Hagrid understands."

"If you say so, professor. I didn't realise you were so interested in my subjects," Harry tentatively said, offering an opening for an explanation. Dumbledore took a deep breath and exhaled.

"I know. Normally I would not, but things happened during the summer. I had hoped many years would pass still, but it was not to be. Still, I am glad you have at least had some years of preparation."

Harry straightened up. The tone in Dumbledore's voice was not to be mistaken. This was far more serious than merely academic choices.

" It's a bit of a story, so forgive me. You remember what I told you about Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban only a few months ago. I know that Lupin told you about him and Black, and your father, and Pettigrew." Harry nodded stiffly, not too happy about the reminder of how his parents had been betrayed and murdered.

"Turns out we've been wrong. Well I have been told so, and I believe them. Black did not betray your parents. In fact, it was Pettigrew," Dumbledore said.

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. "No... What?" A flood of feelings and conflicting thoughts rushed through his mind. He had despised Black as a murderer like anybody else, but with the added flavour of holding him responsible for his parents' death and his imprisonment with the Dursleys. To suddenly have to re-evaluate that... Harry's mind spun from the revelations.

"But Black was sent to Azkaban for the murders. He killed my parents, and Pettigrew too, and a dozen of innocent people!" Harry argued, not prepared to deal with this. Not long after Black had escaped from Azkaban, Dumbledore had sent Harry a letter to let Harry know, and to tell him that Dumbledore was dealing with the matter personally and Harry should not worry about Black. Harry's first instinct had been to go after Black himself to hunt him down and drag him back to Azkaban; but as soon as Hermione had realised that, she had sensibly pointed out that a) If Harry left Hogwarts to go after Black, he wouldn't even know where to go, or how to get anywhere - he couldn't take the train, he couldn't apparate, and flying on a broomstick with no idea how to navigate would likely send him over the Atlantic Ocean, and b) Harry had no idea how to track Black; if the man could escape dementors and aurors at Azkaban, a 15-year old student would not be able to catch him. In the end Harry had agreed to not do anything if Hermione would just be quiet about it.

"Pettigrew is NOT dead. My source tells me that he is capable of transforming into a rat; he faked his own death, framing Black in the process. And until recently, Pettigrew was here, still in the guise of the rat."

"Recently? And you trust your source?" Harry asked, still in turmoil. "Professor, are you sure about this? I've blamed Black ever since I was told about him, and what he did. Now you say he didn't do it..." Harry did not want to elaborate on what 'it' was

"I trust my source, yes. All my investigations have confirmed his story. You will get to meet him eventually," Dumbledore promised, pausing his explanations. "I had the same reaction when first confronted with the truth. I did not wish to believe that an innocent man sat in Azkaban for 14 years, while the true culprit hid among us."

"But he killed Pettigrew," Harry said. "They found a piece of him. He got revenge, didn't he?" Harry realised that that must have been what Black was doing; like Harry, he had gone after the murderer to take his vengeance.

"They found a finger, Harry. But tell me something... I heard this from Arthur Weasley, BUT you can confirm it, I believe. Your friend Ron had a pet rat, did he not. A rat with a missing claw, who has now disappeared."

Harry frowned, thinking that the conversation had taken an odd turn and not sure why Dumbledore cared about Ron's pet. Until he remembered that all they had found of Pettigrew was a finger. "Are you saying..."

"I am afraid so. These last years, Pettigrew has been in perfect position to spy on you, and do the bidding of Voldemort. I suspect the only reason he has not tried to kill you was because Voldemort was not in power, and they, whomever they may be, either needed you for a reason or Pettigrew was biding his time."

"But... he, you-know-who," Harry flinched at the mention of the name, "he was destroyed. I don't mean to sound pompous, but I'm proof of that. This is proof of that!" Harry said, pointing to his scar. Dumbledore shook his head.

"Voldemort went to extensive lengths to protect his life force. I am still in the process of dealing with it," the aged wizard said with a glance towards a shelf nearby. Harry followed his gaze and saw a few items scattered, but Dumbledore snapped his attention back.

"Pettigrew disappeared when he was found out; and possibly also because Voldemort has found his way back to power and he can once more serve his old master. I do have many informants, and this is the image they have painted for me. The reason I am telling you this, and why I changed your schedule, is to prepare you. Magical Theory might teach you things you will need; and I can't guarantee you will be able to return to Hogwarts in your sixth year." This left a visible shock on Harry's face. Not return? Why not? Dumbledore hastened to explain.

"Voldemort will have one ambition above all. He wants to destroy you, Harry, you are the primary obstacle to all his plans. I will shelter you as long as I can, prepare you as best I can, but at some point, you will be on your own." Dumbledore looked at Harry with those blue eyes that could not be scrutinised, but in turn seemed to analyse and dissect everything they encountered.

"Forgive me for being so blunt. But you have to know what awaits you, if you are to stand a chance. While you are at Hogwarts, I don't think he will dare move against you, not while I am present. But as Pettigrew has proven, his reach is long. Trust your closest friends, Harry, trust me and your teachers, but be ever vigilant," Dumbledore said in an echo of Moody's motto.

"I've kept you long enough," Dumbledore said, breaking the tension that had been building for a while. "Time you went to dinner," the headmaster said, and although food was the furthest thing from Harry's mind, he got up and left the office.

Outside, he stopped to arrange his thoughts. He was not sure what had made the biggest impact. Black, whom he had hated for years, had not deserved it. Scabbers, a fat, old rat was in fact Pettigrew, spy and servant of Voldemort. And he was returning. Like everybody else in the wizard world, Harry had assumed he was dead and gone. There had been not a single whisper of his return for 14 years. Dumbledore had suspected though, Harry realised, if he had understood correctly that the old wizard had not been idle. As much as he disliked both how all these news had been dumped on him, and Dumbledore simply using his authority to change Harry's schedule without his knowledge, Harry knew that such were of less importance. If it were true, and Harry had to assume it was, what mattered was Voldemort's return. He had to prepare for this, his every moment and his every thought. Any advantage he could gain, any training he could do, any preparations he could make. Whatever happened, Harry swore to himself, he would be ready. Voldemort had undoubtedly learned since their first encounter, where a helpless baby had defeated him. Harry would learn as well.

* * *

**Author's note:** _The actual beginning of the plot, so to say; exposition is done and the story can now unfold. It's also an example of how I envision both Harry and Dumbledore, both being more proactive in this fight. You'll notice a few things have been shifted around, like Black's escape takes place in this year and not Harry's third year etc. Feel free to let me know your thoughts so far, or just continue to read on._


	3. Nightmare

Dinner was Harry's third meal back at Hogwarts, since he had skipped lunch. As the previous ones, he barely spoke a word, although this time for far heavier reasons that weighed on his mind. However, since he had been silent at the other meals too, none seemed to notice. Only as they finished and began to move towards the common room, Hermione approached him.

"Harry, is something wrong? I didn't want to bother you about it, but you've been so silent since your conversation with Dumbledore."

"Oh right," Ron interjected, having forgotten about it. "What did the mad hatter say?"

"He just thought it would be better for me, changing schedules, suggested I began to focus on my career choices. I'll tell you more about it later," Harry said. Although Dumbledore had not forbidden him to speak of this, he did say only to trust a few people; and in the throng of people walking from dinner, Harry did not want to broach the subject of Voldemort's return.

"In fact, I think I should do that now," Harry said. "Go to the library and look up some stuff. I want to be prepared."

"Harry, that's a great idea! Dumbledore's right, we only have three years left, and before that we need to know what subjects to focus on." Hermione naturally had no objections to any plan that required the use of the library.

"It's three years," Ron said, having the opposite opinion. "There's plenty of time! Most of my family rarely know what they want to do before they finish school."

"That's your family," Hermione said with a hint of sarcasm. "I support Harry's idea fully."

And so, since Ron did not want to go back to the common room alone, they went to the library. Harry dug up books that detailed the requirements of aurors.

"You want to be an auror, Harry? That's dangerous work," Hermione said, not without a little uncertainty in her voice.

"Of course, auror, that's brilliant!" Ron said, now fully committed to the idea of career exploration. "What's required?"

"You can borrow the book when I'm done, it lists the classes," Harry answered and took out quill and parchment, and began copying things.

"You're really organised," Hermione said, her voice full of admiration. It was clear that Harry had risen in her esteem greatly in the last ten minutes. She herself sat with a book that focused on magical healing and caretaking. Despite the wondrous abilities of magic, there were countless illnesses and injuries that had no cure, particularly those that ailed the mind, which the full wards at St. Mungo's proved. Knowing Hermione's studious mind and penchant for research, Harry did not doubt she would do perfect in such a field. He did not correct her, either, although he knew she thought he was writing down what classes was required to become an auror. After all, he knew now he could not expect to complete his education. Nor was he interested in working for the Ministry. But auror was the only thing that came close to what he needed preparation for; fighting and defending against dark wizards. So Harry ploughed through the books. On the requirement for Potions, Harry noted down what sort of potions an auror might find useful in combat, what potions he could expect his enemies to use, any weaknesses that might entail, what antidotes an auror should always have in their possession and so on. For Transfiguration, he wrote down how it could be useful in combat, turning the environment into a living battlefield or hampering one's enemies. And so on, and so on, for each subject. When he was finally done, Ron had long since given up and returned to the common room for a game of chess against anybody who wanted to go against the reigning champion. Hermione remained, impervious to reading fatigue.

"I'm done, let's go back, it's soon time to turn in anyway," Harry told her, and they both packed their things. He glanced at his list one last time, all the things he needed to learn, and then rolled it together.

When he went to bed, he fell asleep quickly, but he did not sleep with ease. Strange dreams haunted him, though he could make no sense; like a nocturnal labyrinth that trapped his mind, and wherever he went he found only dead ends. And a weight pressed on him, made it hard to breathe; he felt as if in an oven, the heat constantly rising. Suddenly he woke up with a burning sensation on his chest, sitting straight up in his bed. He pressed his hand against his chest, feeling a strange warmth, but before he could think further of it, he saw a shape moving in the room. Reaching for his wand, Harry tried to focus but could determine nothing. He grabbed his glasses next, and thought he saw the silhouette of a man moving to the stairs. Harry jumped out of bed and followed after. As he reached the stairs, he saw the man by the bottom; rather short, a bit heavy around the waist, and with thin hair. He hurried away, and Harry hurried after; but as he reached the end of the stairs and looked over the common room, he saw nobody. His eyes darting everywhere, Harry was mystified; nobody could have disappeared so quickly, unless they could make themselves invisible or apparate away. The latter was impossible, and Harry assumed that if they could turn themselves invisible they would not have been visible to begin with. Still looking the room over, Harry saw a rat dash across the floor. His first instinct was to shy away, having no fondness for the vermin; only then did he remember his conversation with Dumbledore. Horror rose inside of him as he understood that it was not just a rat. The shape that had been in their dorm was Pettigrew, and he was making his escape.

Harry stood frozen for a moment; he was not even sure he should pursue. Pettigrew had been able to blow up several people, and he had not shied away from cutting off his own finger to make his escape. If Harry went after him, he might find himself out of his depth. But he could not stand still either; a castle as old as Hogwarts had to have countless passageways that something as small as a rat could come through. Pettigrew could go anywhere, undetected, just as he had undetected made his way into the castle and their dorm. Wake the others? But what to tell them, that he had seen a man whom he believed had turned himself into a rat and was now hiding somewhere in the castle? Although Dumbledore had not made it apparent, Harry could guess that the consensus was still that Pettigrew was dead. He would not convince anybody. Of course, Dumbledore. Harry almost hit himself for being so slow. He ran through the common room and out, ignoring the protests from the paintings that at this hour students were supposed to be in bed. It did not take him long to reach Dumbledore's office, and the statue obliged him passage, allowing entry to a Harry frantically calling Dumbledore's name. Once inside the empty room, however, Harry realised that Dumbledore of course did not sleep here. It was in the middle of the night. At his wits' end, Harry looked around, remembering the hidden door at the other wall. Through there? His speculations were cut short by a deep, comforting voice. "Harry? What's wrong?" Turning around, there stood Dumbledore looking his usual self, with Fawkes on his shoulder. If he had been asleep and been awakened, or already awake, Harry could not tell; it did not matter either. As quickly as possible, Harry relayed what had happened.

"Pettigrew? Stay here, Harry, I will deal with this," Dumbledore said and quickly cast a spell. From his wand flowed a white, thick mist until it gathered into the shape of a phoenix. "Find McGonagall," Dumbledore said. For a moment Harry thought he spoke to him, until the silver phoenix flew off speedily. Then as Harry was looking at the silver trail of the phoenix, Dumbledore disappeared; when Harry turned to look, the old wizard was gone.

A while passed, which Harry spent with his eyes fixed on the passageway; although Dumbledore obviously could come and go as he pleased, he hoped that was not true for everybody. Eventually he heard noise outside and he retreated to the side, his wand raised. Only when he saw the familiar shape of McGonagall did he move forward from the cupboard he had hid behind. "Mr. Potter, you're alright," McGonagall said, with an audible sigh of relief. "And you did the right thing rousing the Headmaster. He's informed me what's going on, and asked me to keep you safe," she told him. Harry nodded, not at all ashamed at his own relief at being protected by somebody he knew was as competent and sensible as the deputy headmistress.

"Mr. Potter - are you bleeding?" Harry followed McGonagall's gaze down to his left hand, which had a red trail on it. Now that he had stood still for a few moments, the trail trickled down and a few drops had coloured the floor. Quickly McGonagall seized his hand and pulled up his sleeve, revealing a small wound that was bleeding.

"We should get you to Madam Pomfrey," McGonagall said concerned. Harry shook his head, however; he wanted this over with, rather than be forced to spend the night in the hospital wing. If so, everybody would know he had been absent through the night and ask endless questions. "It doesn't even hurt, which is why I didn't notice it before." McGonagall seemed inclined to force her authority through, but then she relented and instead gave Harry a handkerchief, which he pressed against the wound. After a little while, it seemed to have stopped bleeding as well. "There, no harm done," Harry said, without considering the reasons why he was bleeding or the implications thereof.

Eventually Dumbledore returned. "We've scoured the castle, but no sign. I've reinforced the wards to detect signs of animagi; you should not transform while inside the boundaries, Minerva," said the headmaster. "Having been detected, I imagine Pettigrew has fled; we can't say whether he achieved what he came for or not, but either way he will know how dangerous it is to stay. If nothing else, that should be the last we've seen of him," Dumbledore said. "As for you, Harry, you should return to bed. Get any sleep, if you can. Professor McGonagall will escort you and keep Gryffindor tower safe, while I and the other teachers broaden our search." McGonagall nodded, and with one hand firmly on Harry's shoulder and the other on her wand she led Harry back to the tower.

Harry had on occasion snuck out at night to explore the hallways of the castle after dark, it was more or less given if one were friends with the Weasley twins. Evading Filch and Peeves was a kind of sport they practiced, and Harry had enjoyed it as well as the general exploration of the old castle. But tonight the corridors seemed foreboding with the long rows of empty armours on display, like an army waiting to be animated by some malicious will. The shadows loomed in the light of the moon, that shone full like an ill omen. A night for lunacy, as it was said, and when werewolves would stalk the land. As Lupin had said, and he had to be considered an expert on the subject, there was no such thing as a friendly werewolf. All such thoughts persecuted Harry's mind until he separated from McGonagall who stayed in the common room, and he returned to his bed. But he kept his glasses on and his wand in his hand, and at the smallest inclination he turned and raised it at the slightest shadow that might contain a rat.

* * *

**Author's note:** _Unlike Harry, you can perhaps guess the implications of Pettigrew's errand and why Harry is bleeding. Blood is a powerful reagent when you need to revive somebody from death. Now the board has truly been set and the game begun._


	4. Determinator

As daylight came, it brought the promise of a new day to wash away the dread and uncertainty of yesterday. Last night had shaken Harry to his core. The feeling that he had felt incapable of pursuing Pettigrew, unable to handle this on his own but forced to rely on Dumbledore; that feeling haunted him however. He knew that if he hadn't woken up on his own, Pettigrew would have gone undetected; it seemed pure luck that Harry was even alive. Or if Pettigrew had spared his life on purpose, Harry shivered to think for what purpose exactly. Thus, he attacked each class with determined aggressiveness that surprised even Hermione, not to mention Ron. Even in Herbology, which had never held Harry's interest, he know found himself reading the description of each plant carefully, particularly their uses and properties. He paired up with Hermione rather than Ron, knowing this would ensure much greater success with any joint projects; Ron went with Neville, Hermione's usual partner, who was rather adept at Herbology so Harry did not consider it a loss on Ron's part. Harry managed to amaze Hermione when not only did their extraction of wormtail earn Sprout's praise, but Harry then went on to ask Sprout various questions about the applications of wormtail extract. Particularly its use as a possible anti-septic; although listed in their textbook was something Hermione thought she was the only one who had bothered to read closely enough to discover. Several points were earned for Gryffindor, though such meant nothing to Harry. What he considered a victory was that thanks to Sprout, he knew how to identify this plant in nature, how to extract its liquid and apply it on a wound to prevent infection.

In Potions, Harry again partnered with Hermione since his joint potions with Ron had a tendency to fail spectacularly. Their Heating Draught turned out perfectly, and Snape allowed them to pour some of it into flasks for themselves to keep. He even commented that perhaps Harry had more of his mother in him than was apparent, which Harry knew was a kind of compliment, given how good his mother had been with potions. Though he had long since lost any interest in Snape's opinion on himself, Harry knew that his own personal opinion of Snape was less important than his newfound determination.

"What would happen if I added wormwood to the potion?" Harry asked, the silence in the dungeon so sudden that it was downright eerie. Nobody, not even the Slytherins, ever asked voluntary questions of Snape. The potions master turned and let his gaze linger on Harry.

"It might make the cauldron blow up, it might increase the duration of the effect," Snape said simply. The Heating Draught, much as its name explained, was a potion to stave off hypothermia and keep the drinker warm for hours. "I've never tried," Snape added. The idea had come into Harry's mind when reading about the properties of wormwood; although the Heating Draught was extremely useful when one could not find shelter or warmth, it would not last an entire night.

"Would you let me try? Tonight, under your supervision," Harry asked. It had taken enormous resolve to not only volunteer himself to do extra potions work, but to request Snape's presence. As much as Harry loathed the man's personality, he knew he was the foremost expert on potions in Britain. And now this foremost expert stared at Harry with dark eyes that were as piercing as the headmaster's, but in a more menacing way.

"You want me to volunteer my time tonight, to supervise you blowing up your cauldron?" Snape said softly. Harry swallowed and considered this good training for keeping his courage when faced with an actual dark wizard. Malfoy snickered.

"If I fail, you get a show. But if you instruct me when you presume it would work best, I believe the potion might work. It could even double the duration of the effect, if done right," Harry said, although he hated giving any kind of compliment to Snape.

"Very well," came the reply from the ominous potions master. "Tonight then, anybody who is interested in an experiment."

"I'm going just to see Potter get his face blown up!" Malfoy said, inciting some laughter among the Slytherins. However, a rare disapproving gaze from Snape silenced them. "The pursuit of potion lore is no laughing matter," he said and then dismissed the class.

"Are you mad? Really, have you gone bonkers?" Ron stared at Harry, his mouth open. "Volunteering to do potions? With Grease-hair?"

"You shouldn't talk about a professor like that," Hermione said, though her heart was not really in the chastising. Nobody could defend Snape and honestly mean it.

"Potions are a requirement for aurors," Harry said, gripping at the only explanation he could think of. His real interest was knowing that if he was ever on the run, a good supply of the Heating Draught would help his survival immensely, eliminating the need for shelter or a fire. Especially if he could increase its duration.

"I think it's great," Hermione said pointedly, which everybody knew she would. "I'll certainly be going - Harry did great brewing potions today, I don't see why it would fail." This earned her a scowl from Ron, Harry's previous potions partner, who was becoming aware that he tended to perform poorer than Harry whenever they worked separately in class. Any hurt feelings on Ron's behalf, however, had to be considered collateral damage. Harry knew he could not afford wasting any time in class.

Last subject of the day was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry had always enjoyed this subject the most; after a few poor teachers, the recent ones had been better. Lupin had been very adept, and teaching Harry many things otherwise not accessible to third-years. When he had been sacked, Alastor Moody had taken over. He had seemed rather extreme in his methods, even forcing the Imperius curse on his students to teach them how to resist it; but given his grizzled appearance, Harry could understand his paranoia. Perhaps it was the same vigilance that had allowed him to survive in the position and stay as a teacher for his second year now. Although Harry had had his doubts about Moody as a teacher, Harry knew he had learned valuable lessons from Moody; and knowing what he did now, having the most famous auror in Britain teach him defensive magic was perfect.

After initial barks of constant vigilance, the class was shown various curses and countermeasures, before being paired up to test against each other. True to his form, Harry partnered with Hermione since she quickly grasped how to perform the curses and provided the best opposition of any in the classroom. Also she was the only one who kept up with his insistence on continual practice, while most others took occasional breaks; not that she had any of Harry's reasons, but simply because it was in her nature. With Ron, Harry's practising duel during these classes had been as much about laughs and trying to jinx each other for fun. In the other end of the spectrum, everybody always seemed to tire before Hermione and never gave her the challenge she craved. Now, however, they worked for an hour, throwing spells at each other which eventually assembled everybody into the audience. Moody's eyes, both natural and magical, had been fixed on them from the start, and occasionally he threw comments at them. Harry, in turn, felt better than ever, even as he sweated and felt all his muscles ache. There was a combination of the exercise he had done during the summer with the delight of doing magic, as well as the challenge of an opponent on his own level. Harry acted as much on reflexes as anything, constantly dodging and throwing spells. Finally the duel ended when Hermione tricked him and got a stun through his evasions. Moody revived him and gave him a swig of a flask that numbed some of the pain from the fall.

"10 points to Gryffindor for effort, Harry, and 15 points for the victory, Hermione," Moody said, with something that resembled a rare smile in the cracked lines of his mouth. Hermione was practically beaming with pleasure and although exhausted and annoyed that he had lost, Harry felt rather pleased as well. Duelling so intensely, not merely as a joke, was an exhilarating feeling, and it had given Harry an idea for further preparations. While the rest of his classmates packed and went to leave, Harry excused himself to his friends.

"I just want to talk to Moody, about my sneakoscope," Harry said, though he had other reasons as well.

"Alright, if nothing else, see you tonight in the dungeons," Hermione said.

"Don't remind me, there's no way I'm going to that," Harry heard Ron mutter as they disappeared.

Alone with Moody, Harry approached his desk. The teacher looked expectantly at him, and Harry found it hard to say his intention. Perhaps because he was exhausted from the duel, perhaps because Moody's strange eye stared so intently. In either case, Harry decided to postpone the actual matter for later.

"Professor Moody, I was given a Sneakoscope by - Lupin," Harry said, suddenly unsure how Moody might feel about his predecessor.

"Sensible gift," was Moody's only reply.

"I think it's broken though. Could I come by your office and have you take a look at it? I imagine you'd be the resident expert," Harry asked, adding a little flattery. It was true enough, after all.

"Certainly, I encourage being on your toes," Moody said, as Harry had assumed.

"After dinner? I have potions to brew in the evening, but before then," Harry suggested.

"Sounds fine," Moody said in his gruff voice. "Already got detention?" the professor asked with a hint of amusement.

"Nope, voluntary work," Harry said, and then turned around and left, not wanting to get into explanations. Although Moody was probably trustworthy, Harry did not like the idea of his motivations and reasons being examined by anybody, especially not one as perceptive as Moody.

Still feeling the consequences of his earlier exertion, Harry decided for a bath and a change of clothes. He waved to Ron as he passed through the common room, but continued on upstairs, quickly taking a warm shower. The relief it brought his sore limbs was most soothing, and he remained in the stall for a long time. His new ambition required that he pushed himself much more than he had ever done before, and the shower stall felt like a break; that here he was allowed to pause, take it slow, not worry but simply enjoy the sensation of warm water. Finally done, he put on new clothes and sat down on his bed. There were still some time left before dinner and his various arrangements in the evening. He pondered how to spend them best, whether he should read for tomorrow or perhaps refresh certain spells. However, he felt as if he had pressed himself as much as could be demanded; in the end, he went down into the common room and took some defeats in chess from Ron.

At dinner, Harry continued his now customary silence. In his mind, he was going over the conversation he intended to have with Moody. He needed to present his suggestion clearly, rationally, using arguments that echoed what Moody said in class. When dinner was over, they all went to the Gryffindor tower; but while the rest remained in the common room, Harry went up and grabbed his excuse from the trunk. Sneakoscope in hand, he waved briefly to Ron and Hermione, who shot him a concerned glance, though he could not say why. Quickly forgotten, his mind was on the ensuing conversation. Having often been in the office when he had practiced spells with Lupin, Harry knew the way well. Now, in Moody's time, it was a veritable museum of paranoia, with all such objects that might warn their owner. Just like the item in Harry's hands, which could be heard wheeling and whistling through the fabric. Unpacking it, Harry gave it to Moody to inspect while he sat, unsure about how to speak his actual purpose.

"Well, it seems perfectly fine, though this level of activity usually suggests an imminent attack," Moody said in a professional tone of voice. "I can't say what's wrong. Unless, of course, it's strong enough to pick up on things like a slow poison working its way through your system. Do you feel ill, Harry?" Moody said, suddenly turning his eyes on Harry, who swallowed in sudden anxiety.

"Err, no, I feel fine," Harry said.

"Well, wards should have detected anything to the contrary," Moody said. "Sorry, Harry, don't think I know what's wrong. Why don't you take this back," he placed the sneakoscope back in Harry's hands, "and tell me why you're really here."

"What?"

"Well, you've been sitting like on pins ever since you got here, I presume you're not just concerned about your sneakoscope," Moody pointed out, confirming to Harry that the old auror was indeed perceptive. Taking a deep breath, Harry plunged in.

"Remember last year, where you exposed us to the Imperius curse so we could recognise it and fight it? I want you to use the Cruciatus curse on me," Harry said, exhaling again. Moody's surprise was obvious, and Harry took some pleasure in being able to surprise the man of constant vigilance.

"Imperius is one thing, but Cruciatus? That one can't be explained away, not even if I say you asked me to. If found out, I'm bound for Azkaban," Moody said.

"I know," replied Harry. "But I also know nobody would know better than you how to cover up what we're doing."

"Tell me, Harry, just why are you asking me to inflict such pain on you?"

"I want to be ready. Imagine somebody wants to torture me for information or just to get me to comply, after realising their Imperius curse won't work. I want to know how it feels, and how to be able to withstand it."

"Most 15-year olds don't plan ahead for when they might get tortured, not to mention wish to experience it beforehand," Moody said with that gaze of his running over Harry as if analysing him.

"I'm not most 15-year olds, nor can I expect the life of one," Harry answered.

"Dumbledore told you, did he, good. No point in keeping things from you, leave you vulnerable. You do realise though, too much exposure to the Cruciatus curse can break a man's mind. And since I'm not in the habit of using it on other people, I can't say how much that would be."

Harry knew the story of Neville's parents, and had thought about it. "Too much exposure at once, yes. But a gradual exposure, over many weeks, should build up tolerance, should it not? And I imagine you will err on the side of caution."

"Do you now," Moody said simply, still subjecting Harry to his stare. Then he gave a short, barking laugh. "Well, I always preach that you should be prepared for the worst; can't complain when you take me up on it. Bring your sneakoscope to my office next Wednesday night, that'll be our excuse. Tell nobody, not even Dumbledore. He might not approve, and even if he did, you never know who else might be listening."

Harry left Moody's office with a sense of satisfaction at having achieved his goal, until he remembered what that goal entailed. He was tempted for a moment to turn around, back out, tell Moody he changed his mind. Two things stopped him; the knowledge that this was necessary, and his pride. This was his own idea, his own design; he would not let fear of pain keep him from carrying it out. He doubted that Moody had much sympathy with such displays of weakness. And now he had to prepare himself for the possibility of mental torture; his potions scheme in the dungeons. Making his way there, Harry did not want to imagine if it failed. Snape's scorn was given, as was Malfoy's, and while usually Harry did not care much about either, he just did not want to give them any more opportunities to display it than necessary. Certainly not an opportunity of his own invention, such as volunteering to brew experimental potions.

There were few in the dungeons when Harry arrived; there rarely were many down there, after all, except for the path that from what he knew led to the Slytherin quarters. Very few had any kind of interest in potions at all, and it was rare that students worked here voluntarily. Usually the various corridors and corners of the dungeons were only used by couples wanting privacy, though woe be them if Snape or Filch happened to come across them. For now Snape was in his potions room, however, as was Hermione, Malfoy and his entourage and a few Ravenclaws, which should not have come as a surprise. The Slytherins hung back and merely made snide remarks, which Snape pretended to overhear. Harry and Hermione worked as they had this morning, preparing the same ingredients as well as the wormwood. A few of the Ravenclaws students helped as well, preferring that to being passive participants.

Under Snape's watchful eyes, they added the wormwood on his instructions, taking care not to be too liberal - it could be poisonous in sufficient doses, after all. After the potion was done, it had the bright orange glow of the original Heating Draught, though none could know for sure how it had worked. Until somebody tasted, of course. Snape looked expectantly at Harry, reminding him that this was his experiment. The Slytherins looked on in anticipation. Harry steeled himself and dipped a spoon. If it went wrong, he would be made a laughing stock when some side-effect hit him; but if it went well, it would be all the more satisfying to have both the intelligence to suggest the experiment and the courage to carry it through. No risk, no reward, Harry thought as he sipped the potion. It took a moment, then he felt a pleasant heat spreading through his body, until he removed his cloak to even his body temperature.

"Not bad, Potter," Snape said, and filled several flasks with the liquid for further experiments. "I shall make some tests to see how the wormwood has affected the potion. Clean up after yourselves," Snape finished and left for his office. The Slytherins left with sullen expressions, while Harry, Hermione and the Ravenclaws put everything in order. The Ravenclaws were already busy discussing the experiment and possible ideas of their own for further research.

"Well done, Harry! You know it's really rare anybody makes new potions, or even just finds ways to improve existing ones," Hermione said. If she were at all envious that it had been Harry's idea and not her own, there was not a single trace of it. She seemed so genuinely happy, it was almost contagious.

"Well, I'm sure you'll do lots, once you begin your studies as a healer," he replied, wanting to repay the compliment.

"And I'll have you to experiment on, whenever you need patching up as an auror," Hermione said. It sounded like a jest, though also a subtle reminder that she disagreed with his career choice. Again Harry realised he should be honest, with both her and Ron, but whenever he remembered the timing seemed bad. And he knew neither of them would react well.

Returning to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione explained their success to anybody who would listen. Which turned out to be very few; it was not the Ravenclaw common room, after all. Ron was playing chess against one of his older brothers, impossible to tell which; probably Fred, though, who was the most serious contender to Ron's reign as champion. Harry decided to begin on homework, even though nothing of it was due soon; if things kept up, he would be too busy to retain his usual style of doing it the night before. Best to get as much done in advance as he could. With this decision in mind, Harry began the essay Binns had given them for next week, trying not to think about how much he had turned into Hermione lately. The only difference seemed to be that she cherished the knowledge and work for its own sake, while Harry only considered it a means to an end. In the case of History of Magic though, the means seemed rather pointless and so Harry only worked to finish the essay with the bare minimum requirements. He had more important matters on his mind.


	5. New Subjects

Next day, Harry was split from not only his friends but his entire year as the schedule read Magical Theory. The most eccentric teachers seemed to be on these kinds of optional courses, like Trelawney and Divination, so Harry had no idea what to expect. In fact, he realised as he entered the classroom, he was clueless why Dumbledore thought that this subject would somehow prepare him for what was ahead. The classroom itself was as any other, located in the centre of the castle. At the desk stood a tall, thin man, with glasses and a fair amount of grey, formerly dark hair that enveloped his head and reached to his shoulders. His nose was like a hawk's, and his blue eyes contained a piercing glance - Harry had never noticed it before, but it seemed to have become a standard feature with teachers. What surprised him though, was that he had seen the teacher before. Digging out his book, he saw the man's photo on the back - their teacher was Adalbert Waffling, author of the textbook on Magical Theory. Harry had never really had much to do with the sixth-years students in Gryffindor that he shared the tower with; of older students, only the Weasley twins were among his friends, and they had already had this subject. So, not really knowing anybody, Harry found an inconspicuous seat in the back.

"My name is Professor Waffling," their teacher said with a dry voice that along with his slightly dusty appearance made Harry think of a mummy. "As I hope you are astute enough to have picked up when you looked at your text book. You are here because you have chosen to study the most abstract, complex subject that Hogwarts has to offer; well, most of you have chosen," Waffling said with a pointed look at Harry, which provoked several to turn their heads. Not particularly fond of this unwanted attention, Harry pretended it was nothing and continued taking notes.

"There will be no actual casting of magic here, since I expect you to do such in your own time, experimenting with what we learn here. My purpose is to teach you to understand magic; in turn, it is up to yourselves how you apply that understanding." Harry imagined if his two friends were with him in this moment; Hermione would kill for the chance to have been let early into this class, whereas Ron would kill to get out. As for himself, Harry thought it sounded promising but reserved further judgement.

Waffling continued to discuss what the first chapters of their book was about - nothing less than a discussion of what magic was, how and why it worked. Well, not quite; what magic was exactly was an open question. A force of some kind was the best he could describe it. But how and why wizards could manipulate that force, now that was his interest. He saw the wielding of magic as an extension of willpower. The wizard shaped the force according to his will. He desired this item to rise into the air, hence it did though no energy had been expended, no physical force had moved it.

"But if it's willpower, why do we have a levitation spell that requires an incantation and wand movements?" somebody asked; Harry only realised now it was one of the Ravenclaws from the dungeons. That house seemed the majority in this class; it was a subject that suited them perfectly. Waffling seemed to have expected the question, probably having used levitation as an example for that very purpose.

"We must learn to use our will," he explained. "Even with the natural gift of magic, children cannot simply point at something and make it levitate. When they do magic, it is rarely their express intention, but rather a manifestation of some unconscious desire they are not aware of. Thus they cannot replicate the effect consciously." Harry thought about when the Dursleys had tried to cut his hair, and the following day it had grown back. True, it had not been Harry's intention to grow his hair back, since he was not even aware he might be able to do that. He had just desperately wanted his hair to have its usual length. Waffling continued.

"Many students never progress beyond the charms and spells they learn to do a certain way. The familiarity helps them perform the magic, but also makes them unable to progress past it. That is why Transfiguration is such a hard subject, using almost nothing but willpower and imagination to function; and why often the most gifted wizards above all excel in Transfiguration." Most in the classroom knew he spoke about Dumbledore, who had been considered a prodigy in especially Transfiguration even before he became famous. He had also taught that class, before becoming a headmaster, just as McGonagall now taught it and was deputy headmistress. There was definitely a pattern, Harry noticed.

The lesson continued with discussions of how one could use magic beyond incantations and locked charms. It ended with the homework being reading up on the book's chapter on wandless magic and considering how today's discussion explained how some could perform magic without their wands and others could not. Harry had begun to get into the habit of skipping lunch in order to have time for homework, but this day he followed the Ravenclaws down into the Great Hall, talking with them until they separated for their respective tables. Two of them, one named Fabian and one named Gideon, seemed like nice fellows; and since they didn't know why Harry was actually in their class, or why he experimented with potions, they simply thought he was a mind alike theirs, a Ravenclaw accidentally sorted into Gryffindor. Hence they were happy to talk with him and Harry in turn knew that the Magical Theory lessons would be grow long if he did not make any friends in that class.

"Fancy seeing you here," Hermione said. She had obviously noticed Harry's pattern of missing lunches. He merely sent her a smile, not wanting to explain, and took some food. Ron seized the conversation by telling him what he had missed in Hagrid's class. Their new project was babysitting these creatures that seemed like lizards; miniature dragons, in a way. Their teeth were sharp and they were glad for the chance to test them, though at least they did not breathe fire. Yet, was Hermione's ominous addition. She had read ahead in their textbook. At the mentioning of Hagrid, Harry knew that he owed him a visit; so he arranged with Ron and Hermione to go down to his cabin tomorrow evening.

"Why not tonight?" asked Hermione.

"Can't," Harry said, having his first 'lesson' with Moody that evening. "Ehm, I'm repairing my sneakoscope with Moody," he said, falling back on the same lie. Then he was saved by the bell, or at least the clock that announced it was time for Divination. Ron and Harry said goodbye to Hermione and proceeded to the tower where their class was located.

"This class is such bollocks," Ron muttered. "Even if there are people who can predict the future, they're supposed to be incredible rare; one in a century, perhaps. How on earth can they teach a class year after year of this stuff, when they know none of us will have the gift?"

"Maybe they think it's worth it just to catch that one person," Harry replied, not really interested. Divination was usually a waste of time in Harry's opinion, and he spent most of the classes joking around with Ron until the lesson was over. This particular lesson did not promise to be much different. Astrology charts were spread out in abundance, and try as he might, Harry could not see any way this might be useful in a duel against a dark wizard. Not unless he might be able to depress them as thoroughly with his predictions as Trelawney did to some of the other students, and even then he would be required to know their date of birth first.

When dinner was served, Harry did not have much of an appetite. The knowledge of what awaited him in Moody's office had driven away any feelings of hunger, plus he could not know how he would react to the Cruciatus curse; maybe having a full stomach would turn out to be a terrible idea.

"Not hungry, mate?" Ron asked, stuffing his mouth.

"Ah, no, Trelawney's predictions tend to ruin my appetite," Harry said.

"You should eat something," Hermione chastised him, predictably. "If you want to keep up with me in Defence class, you'll need it." Her argument was even cleverer than she knew herself, and Harry forced himself to some pie of a sort. When dinner was done, Harry was about to separate from the others to go to his appointment with Moody straight away; he had already made a step in that direction when he wavered, realising he needed his excuse. So he followed the others, collected his sneakoscope, wondered if it would break from the constant wear, and went down to Moody.

Once inside the office, Harry stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to expect. Moody sat behind the desk; slowly he rose from his chair, and somehow look more nefarious than anyone Harry had ever seen, including Snape. Harry swallowed, then asked how they were to proceed.

"I think you should sit down on the floor," Moody suggested. "I expect you won't be able to stand on your own once we start." Harry did as suggested, and looked up at Moody; from this angle he looked only more menacing.

"I've never done this on a human, you have to know," Moody said as he raised his wand. "I don't think I'll like it. Neither will you, of course," he added and then muttered the word Crucio. The effect was close to indescribable. As a child, Harry had broken his arm once; it was like that pain, except it did not wane or grow dull. He had cut himself with a knife, and felt again how the metal parted his skin and carved through his flesh. Once he had torn a nail; now every nail was being pulled from his fingers. Many more such memories flashed through his mind, but they all seemed so vague and petty compared to this agony. Every pain he had felt in his life, combined together into a single moment that just lasted forever.

Finally Moody ended the curse. "How long was that," Harry gasped.

"About ten seconds," Moody replied. "I admit, I couldn't make myself maintain it longer. I've seen some bad things, Harry, and I know you feel like an adult, but in my eyes you are still a child... this I don't like the sight of," Moody added. Harry had managed to sit up on the floor, since he had found himself outstretched when the curse was broken. He ran his fingers over his nails, checked the bones in his wrists, and was amazed that nothing seemed hurt.

"Ten seconds?" Harry whispered. Moody nodded.

"I think that's enough for one night," the professor decided. "You'll draw attention if you stay much longer, and I think it'll show on your face too. This kind of curse you don't just shake, even after it has ended."

Harry nodded weakly, not in a position to argue. He grabbed Moody's outstretched hand and got on his feet. The professor placed his sneakoscope in his hands. "Don't forget this. You'll need another excuse though, if you want to come here next Wednesday. And if you don't... well I understand," Moody said, no further words necessary. Harry nodded, understanding as well, and left the office.

Back in the common room, Harry intended to slip right through and into his room. It was still early evening, but all he wanted was to go to bed straight away.

"Harry! Are you ill?" The concerned outburst came from Ginny, with an equally worried look. "Your face, you're ashen," she said.

"I'm fine," Harry lied. "Well, just feeling a little unwell. Something I ate, probably."

"You should go lie down," she suggested.

"I will, straight away," he promised, what he had intended to do anyway. And he did not want to linger and attract any further attention either, so he swiftly extricated himself and hurried up the stairs. Not bothering with his usual sleepwear, he just threw off his clothes until his underwear and hurried under the covers. He found that he was shaking, like from a fever except physically nothing was wrong. It took him a while to calm down, and assess his situation. It had been a few days since his newfound resolve to prepare himself in every way; perhaps influenced a bit by tales of heroes who fought dragons and villains and saved the day. In those stories, however, the hero had usually been finished with his training already when the tale began, and Harry had underestimated just how exerting that could be. For a moment he wavered, knowing he would never want to experience that pain again; then his rational demeanour reasserted itself. There was a week until he had to even consider it, and apart from this, his plan was solid. Having a concrete goal ahead of him had done wonders for his focus and he had learned much already in a few days. He could not be sure how long he might have before Voldemort returned, and he needed to make every day count.


	6. Extracurricular Activities

A new day drove the unpleasant memories into a more faded state, though Harry still shivered lightly at the thought. He pushed it away and devoted himself to his studies. Potions was beginning to become bearable, both because with Hermione as his partner all his potions succeeded and because Snape seemed less interested in tormenting his least favourite student. Magical Theory was still interesting, and although Harry was unable to perform any, he was fascinated by the concept of wandless magic. Not to mention pushing one's own magic beyond the limits of usual spells and incantations; going beyond the framework set by conventional magic. He was also beginning to gain some insight into how spells worked the way they did, and he saw Dumbledore's point in having assigned this class to him. Separating from his Ravenclaw friends, he skipped lunch and did the homework for next class of Magical Theory straight away. Herbology swung back and forth between being interesting and dull, depending on the plants and herbs they worked with, but it was a manageable boredom at its worst. And then the classes were done for the day. The rest of the afternoon saw more homework dealt with, then dinner, and the evening Harry found was all spare time. The Weasley twins organised a surprise sample of some of their wares, the surprise being that nobody realised they had sampled some until it was too late. Only when ears began to grow, hair took on distinct green colours and noses became redder than Vernon's did people catch on that the snacks everybody munched on had been contaminated. How exactly the twins managed to mix their own goods in with whatever candy people had brought with them on their own, they never revealed.

"Bud my grandmodder fent me thif bof, I hadn'd even opened id," Neville managed to say although his tongue was so big it hung out of his mouth.

"A magician never reveals his secret," Fred (or George?) said in a low voice to Neville. His twin was quick to add: "We do however reveal our prices and a list of all available items," fixing just such an object to the wall of the common room.

When his fingernails had stopped growing, Harry went to bed. Another day was over, and he had begun to settle into his Hogwarts routine. Classes during the day, occasional homework and relaxation in the evening. Day by day went by, much like the four previous years except most of his teachers noticed Harry's increased efforts. It did not seem like a week had passed before it was once more Wednesday evening. Harry stood undecided outside Moody's office, pacing back and forth a bit until finally he knocked and was granted entry.

"I wondered how long you would take to decide," Moody said dryly with his magical eye on the door. Of course, he had seen, Harry thought, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Don't feel bad, I know it's not an easy thing. But you're back - you haven't changed your mind?"

Harry shook his head. "I need to build up tolerance."

Same procedure as last week. After ten seconds, Harry was gasping for air, and could not resist checking his fingers to see if they were broken, or whether he still had teeth in his mouth. He spent several minutes composing himself, during all the time Moody simply watched, standing silently next to him. Finally Harry raised his head to meet his gaze.

"Again," Harry said. Moody paused for a moment, then lifted his wand.

When another ten seconds were over, Harry raised his hand in defeat. "No more, not tonight," he said, almost pleading as if Moody was the one who decided whether to use the curse or not. Moody helped Harry up and to a seat, before offering him some of the pain-relieving tonic he had given him during class too. "I didn't offer it last time," Moody said, anticipating what Harry might wonder about, "Since I wanted you to know exactly what you're in for. But since you're back, and seem determined enough, I figured it was alright to make the process easier. Speaking of which, if you intend to return, you need an excuse; or else do something to warrant detention once a week," Moody said with his dry, barking laughter.

"Lupin gave me private lessons on curses and such," Harry said. "We can just say I asked you to continue where he picked off."

"Lupin did that, did he," Moody said. "Perhaps he anticipated before the rest of us that it might be necessary; maybe unconsciously, if he ever saw that filthy rat Pettigrew on your friend's shoulder, something warned him. Never dismiss your instincts, Harry, they're usually a sign of danger that your conscious mind hasn't bothered to tell you about." Harry nodded at this advice, though it seemed unnecessary; Moody was constantly making comments like that during classes.

Before Harry left, he checked his own appearance in Moody's foe-mirror; it allowed enough of a reflection to let him check his own complexion. Perhaps due to Moody's potion, he did not seem ill like last week, and he felt less shaken too. As he returned to the common room, he stayed for one round of chess against Ron, losing within fifteen minutes.

"That's a record even for you," Ron said, obviously taking delight in something he excelled at. Harry could not quite explain why his mind was not capable of focusing on chess at the moment, so he simply congratulated Ron and went for bed.

"You think he was sore he lost?" Ron said to Hermione and Ginny, who had both alternated between reading and following their game. Ginny shrugged, saying she doubted Harry cared much about the game. Hermione said nothing, biting her lip before she engrossed herself in her book again.

With almost two weeks passed back at Hogwarts, Harry felt he had a reasonable understanding of his schedule, his spare time and so on. While he had accelerated his studies in most ways, he had also found ways to cut down on how much attention he devoted to what he deemed non-essential topics. History of Magic, for instance. Harry had never been an ardent student; he suspected Hermione was the only one who had ever qualified for that description. But now Harry cut all activity as much as possible, doing the absolute bare minimum for essays, skipping reading when he felt possible and was not above paying the twins for some of their previous essays. It seemed quite obvious that Binns' short-term memory had ceased to function upon his death; he did not remember new information, such as essays previously read years past. Of course, this practice of recycling homework had to be kept from Hermione, though Harry was not surprised to find out Ron had been doing this for years. In fact, a major part of his allowance went towards his homework funds, as he called it. Ginny was scandalised at first when she found out, and Harry did feel a sting at her disappointment; but he managed to swear her to secrecy, knowing that sting would be nothing compared to the tempest Hermione would unleash if she found out.

Although in previous years a more ethical Harry would likewise had felt scandalised at cheating, pragmatic Harry only saw the advantage in time gained. He could have several evenings open, even with homework and his sessions with Moody. Monday and Friday would be best, he concluded, since Wednesdays would leave him drained and too weary to be any good at anything; Tuesday and Thursday he might need for homework, if he was not able to do it Wednesday. So, Monday and Friday he would devote to his latest scheme. He had gotten the idea from defence class, and knew Hermione was the first to involve.

"A duelling club? That's a great idea, Harry!" Hermione said enthusiastically, then lowered her voice. "Why are you being so quiet about it? I'm sure lots would be interested."

"Yes, but I don't think this should be for anyone. I think we should invite members specifically, those we want to acquire good combat skills and whom we trust to keep the club secret." Harry knew his reasoning was not the strongest; but he did not want to say outright that he wanted to prepare certain people for what might be an upcoming wizard war. And if the club was open to the public, it might attract the kind of people who would be on the opposite side of such a war. Thankfully, Hermione was too enthralled by the idea of belonging to a secret club to notice any flaws in Harry's argument. She had never belonged to any exclusive club of any sort, where you only invited the people you liked. Furthermore, he was not in doubt that she enjoyed their duels during defence class as much as him; regardless of who won, she was all laughs and smiles afterwards, and she usually spent dinner with Harry analysing their duel and discussing how to counter this spell or take advantage of that weakness.

Next to include was Ron. Not because pragmatic Harry considered him the best choice, but because he was their friend and they had to include him. Not to mention he would notice if they were conspicuously absent twice a week. This meant that the rest of the Weasleys followed suit soon after; Harry had had his doubts, but Fred and George leapt that the opportunity of inflicting potentially humiliating hexes on others. Ginny was far more serious, but wanted to join too, understanding the opportunity this offered; Harry suspected she alone in her family had the foresight to know how useful duelling skills could soon turn out to be. Harry and Hermione argued a bit for how big to make the club; although it was Harry's idea, he knew he would need her organisational skills and they had a kind of unspoken agreement that they served as co-captains of this unofficial club. They decided to keep it small, for ease of training and keeping it secret, and to see how it went; they could always expand their numbers. Neville Longbottom was invited too; not because Harry imagined he would ever be useful in a fight, but knowing what had happened to his parents, he felt that Neville deserved at least the chance to learn how to defend himself properly.

Harry's acquaintances from Ravenclaw, the fraternal twins Fabian and Gideon Prewett were invited as well, since he imagined they might bring valuable insight that a purely Gryffindor club would not possess. That made nine, but they wanted an even number to have pairs that could duel each other. Harry took a leap of faith and invited Cedric Diggory. Although he was uneasy about approaching somebody he had never even spoken with, and had no knowledge of whether he could trust, a few factors spoke in Cedric's favour. He was a Hufflepuff, which meant he was supposed to be reliable and trustworthy and served to introduce the third house of Hogwarts to the club; although Harry did not wish to be prejudiced, Slytherin seemed rather like a house to avoid. Furthermore he had won the Tri-Wizard Tournament, proving himself capable in dangerous situations, able to keep his cool and improvise. Although Cedric was unsure why a fifth-year Gryffindor wanted to speak with him, he listened to Harry's proposal and agreed to attend the club's first meeting the following Friday. In fact, Harry found him easy and pleasant to speak with; perhaps because he was a few years older and had won considerable fame as the Tri-Wizard champion, he was not daunted by Harry's reputation, but spoke to him as an equal.

When Friday evening came, eight students gathered in one of the empty dungeons and turned their expectant stares towards Harry and Hermione. She turned her eyes towards Harry as well, and he found himself unsure for a moment, until he remembered his plans for the evening. "Some of you may know, Lupin taught me various curses and such when he was a teacher here," Harry said, a little uncomfortable in pointing out that he had received preferential treatment.

"However, I've rarely had a chance to try any of these spells in a real duel. I thought that each time we meet, we would take turns in demonstrating a spell, discuss its strengths and weaknesses, and practice it against each other. We can continue for however long we want; maybe after trying out the spell of the evening, we will do general duelling against each other." When Harry finished speaking, he felt his throat was dry; this position of command and making decisions for others was not natural to him. But nobody objected, there was a general murmur of agreement, and Harry proceeded to demonstrate the protego-spell. It formed a protective sphere around the caster, which absorbed incoming, hostile spells. The better one cast it, the stronger the protection. It could not protect against the death curse, but Harry had already planned later on how to train against that. For now, protego would stop stunners, most hexes and jinxes and such until the sphere dissolved. Naturally, the seventh-year students already knew the spell, which was about half of them. They helped instruct the younger students in how to cast it, and then tested the strength of the spheres, giving themselves a chance to test out their own array of spells, and whether any would be unaffected by the protego-spell.

After a while they settled into general duels, rotating opponents rather ad hoc. On occasion, somebody was taken out of rotation for recovery, and Cedric showed his aptitude for spells that helped reverse damage. It turned out that he was planning a career as a medical wizard, and he had several more such useful spells in his arsenal. "We should learn one of those each time we gather," Harry said thoughtfully, to which Hermione whole-heartedly agreed. This would bring her well ahead of anybody else who might pursue the same career choice. Cedric was happy to comply, and Harry felt relief that his choice to involve Cedric had turned out so beneficial. Ron had been slightly dismissive of the idea, both because he shared the general attitude towards Hufflepuff and because he felt ambivalent that the Hogwarts champion last year had not been from Gryffindor. After testing his mettle several times against Cedric, however, Ron had to admit that Cedric's experience and two years made him unbeatable compared to Ron.

"Looks like the badger took out the lion in you," Harry remarked with a smirk.

"If I recall, he burst your protego with his first stunner," Ron retorted, laughing. The evening's exertion had left everybody tired, but in a great mood. Although three houses were present, and only the Gryffindors really knew each other beforehand, the club already performed in an amiable atmosphere. Harry could not imagine it had gone any better, and he already looked forward to the next meeting when they separated.


	7. The Second Conversation

With the unofficial duelling club, this final scheme in place, Harry fell into routine even faster. Day after day passed, and if his friends thought he was sometimes buried in work or practicing spells rather often even outside of the duel club, he claimed it was preparation for owl levels and auror training. Though some still speculated why exactly he had turned into such a model student, nobody connected it with Harry's visits to Dumbledore. For after the first invitation came another, and this time Harry kept it secret. He had become rather skilled at separating himself from his classmates and friends without being noticed, and also having Magical Theory was useful since it gave him an excuse to be apart from the rest of his year. So once more he found his way to the headmaster's office, though as before without any clue why Dumbledore wanted to speak with him.

"I have been told by your teachers that you are doing remarkably well," Dumbledore said, beginning conversation when Harry was once more seated opposite him. "In fact it is said that if you had shown this last year, you would have been prefect now, probably Head Boy in two years time. You've even taken up private studies with Moody, I'm told. Good, good," Dumbledore said. If he knew what those studies entailed, he did not let it show.

"I want to be prepared," Harry said. "I don't know how much time I've got."

"That's very sensible, Harry. Though I am also glad you at least got four normal years here at Hogwarts before you were forced to change directions so abruptly." To this, Harry had no reply, so he simply sat in silence.

"Tell me, Harry, are you happy? I know, a difficult question. But in general.. given how tragic your life began, have things improved? If there were not this threat hanging over your head, would you feel your life was good?"

This was hardly the question Harry had expected, given the nature of their last conversation. "I suppose," Harry ventured, having no clue really. He had never pondered such things - he had just simply lived his life, on the conditions given.

"You see, I have struggled very much with my decision to leave you at the Dursleys." Ah, the crux of the matter, Harry thought, and his expression involuntarily soured. Dumbledore was quick to speak again.

"I thought your aunt would treat you well; I am ashamed to admit it took me years to first suspect and then confirm that was not so. And even then, I felt I had to leave you in their care. Given what happened to Neville's parents so shortly after Voldemort's defeat, I felt justified. There were still, there are still," Dumbledore corrected himself, "very potent threats out there."

"I can't argue I've not been safe," Harry said, avoiding to add the sentiment 'in some sense of the word'.

"Yes, yes... forgive an old man his need to validate his decisions. That is not solely why I asked you to come. Remember my source who told me about Pettigrew? He wishes to come to Hogwarts, speak with you directly. You may learn much from him; in any rate, I think it is a visit you will enjoy. I wanted to inform you of the possibility to speak with him," Dumbledore offered, to which Harry accepted. Anything that could tell him more about the time of his parents' murder was something he hungered to learn about.

"Good, I will arrange it." A silence followed, which made Harry wonder if that was it, if he should get up and leave. Perhaps this showed, for Dumbledore was about to speak, then closed his lips again. He sent a kind of resigned smile towards Harry.

"One more thing, and that will be it for tonight; though I admit you and I have many more things to discuss." It almost sounded like a threat, but Harry leaned forward to indicate he was listening.

"When I'm not at the school, I'm usually in London for sessions of the Wizengamot. There's a seat in that gathering with your name on it, Harry. Would you be interested in going with me?"

Harry was taken aback for a moment; he barely knew anything about the Wizengamot, except it was some kind of court. He remembered Hagrid's letter and that House Potter had a seat in there; obviously it was hereditary, and no doubt Hermione would know more than him, probably more than most born into the wizard world. His first thought was that he could not see why he would interested in the Wizengamot; but he knew Dumbledore would not make this offer without good reason. "I would be very interested in that," Harry replied, which made Dumbledore smile.

"Good, I expect you will learn much. We may sometimes have to leave at short notice, but we will rarely spend more than one night away from Hogwarts, and I will of course clear your absence with the teachers." With this, Harry was excused. As he stood and turned to walk away, he saw Dumbledore rise as well and move towards a shelf. Just before he exited the office, he cast a glance back to see Dumbledore staring at the shelf, and he remembered it was the one Dumbledore had glanced at during their previous conversation. Something weighed on the old wizard's mind, and it was not the Wizengamot, Harry guessed.

It turned out that both Hermione and Ron were excellent sources on the Wizengamot; Hermione because she had read all about the institutions of magical Britain, Ron because his father held the seat of House Weasley.

"It'll go to Bill when dad retires, though he may apply for a second seat being awarded to the Weasleys, on account of how many we are," Ron said with a grin.

"It'll go to Percy, probably, he's the only one of us who works at the Ministry and wants to."

"I never thought about your seat, but of course, Harry, of course you have one," Hermione said, keeping her own separate conversation from Ron's. "House Potter is rather old, traces go further back even beyond you Weasleys," she sat with a glance at Ron. "No wonder you got a vault full of gold," she added, before remembering that being an old wizard family did not necessarily mean wealth. And if there was something Ron was prickly about, it was his family's relative poverty, especially with 7 children in the current generation.

"I don't even know what the Wizengamot does," Harry said. "If Dumbledore hadn't told me about my seat, I could probably have lived my whole life without ever going there, or knowing I had one. Or well, Hagrid told me too, but I didn't think more of it." Harry was reminded he still hadn't gone to see Hagrid, and felt rather guilty. He had kept himself so busy, and with Hagrid on the fringe of Hogwarts in his cabin, the half-giant had been settled on the fringe of his mind too.

"The Wizengamot arbitrates all cases that are serious enough to possibly carry a sentence for Azkaban," Hermione cut through his thoughts. "It can also challenge a law made by the Ministry, and render it invalid. There are up to 400 seats, though not all are in use at the same time; like yours, for instance. At least 300 must attend a session with the intention of challenging a law, and at least 200 must attend to render a verdict in a court case," Hermione quoted from memory.

"About half the seats are considered permanent, meaning they belong to the head of various wizard houses. The other half are given to notable wizards and witches for life; when one becomes vacant because a member dies or retires, the Wizengamot votes on who to award the new seat to. In all matters, simple majority decides. A bit antiquated, if you ask me, that people can inherit seats of such importance to our government and society."

"Nobody did ask you though," said Ron, more attached to the old ways of the wizard world than outsiders like Hermione. Harry still did not care either way, and was only interested in the Wizengamot because Dumbledore was.

"The system is open to power abuse too," Hermione said, unabashed by Ron's barb. "If one faction can gain majority for a while, they can vote vacant seats for new members of their faction, thereby increasing their presence in the Wizengamot. Or a faction may be in the minority, but can hold a session primarily attended only by their own members, and thus force decisions through against the will and interest of the majority."

Harry still had no interest in political intrigues or factions. He had never really thought much about the Ministry, its employees, laws, workings etc. things just seemed to work a certain way, and he did not have any problems with that. Well, except the law against under-age magic. So he politely thanked Hermione for her explanation and went to bed, before she got intrigued and asked why he was having more meetings with Dumbledore, or why Dumbledore did something so unprecedented as to bring a Hogwarts student to Wizengamot sessions.


	8. Power of the Mind

The next day was one of the evenings Harry had off, and he decided to visit Hagrid before he forgot again. Although Ron and Hermione saw the groundskeeper frequently enough for class, they came as well. Hagrid welcomed them with his usual cordial behaviour, and Harry hastened to apologise why it had taken him so long to visit. He was glad that he had at least written Hagrid a letter back during the end of summer, after Hagrid's birthday well-wishes had reached him.

"No matter, I know you're busy," Hagrid said simply. Harry could not tell whether this meant Hagrid knew what at least Moody knew, or if the big man was just being nice. Although he could be terrible when angry, Hagrid was so gentle most of the time, hurting his feelings felt like hurting an innocent child. Hurrying on to change the topic, Harry thanked Hagrid for his gift.

"It's something, isn't it!" Hagrid beamed. "A scale like that, and so new, that's not something you come by easily."

Hermione asked the question on everybody's mind. "Hagrid, how did you come by it?"

"Traded fer it," Hagrid said simply, which caused all three students to give a mental sigh of relief. None of them had ever been to the Forbidden Forest, but they knew Hagrid walked there as one of its residents, and they could all easily imagine he would try and foster dragons in some clearing somewhere, and it would only be revealed once the forest was on fire and panicked woodland creatures invaded Hogwarts. Not to mention the centaurs, who treated the forest as their sovereign territory.

The conversation turned towards Hagrid's subject, Care of Magical Creatures, which left Harry a little out. He did not mind though, just satisfied that Hagrid was happily chatting away about his favourite topic and not harbouring any ill feelings. Looking out the window, Harry saw a shape in the distance, standing by the edge of the forest. It wore some kind of dark robes, and somehow Harry felt unnerved. He knew that less than savoury creatures populated the forest, hence its prefix forbidden, but this felt worse. And then the shape turned and began to walk - glide? - towards the cabin. Suddenly Harry heard a voice in his head. He heard pleading, he heard harsh laughter, he heard the sound of spells flung and bodies hitting the floor. And suddenly there was a pain in his head, searing. If he had not been taking Cruciatus lessons, Harry imagined he would have been on the floor unconscious, or otherwise blinded and incapacitated by pain.

Then he heard a loud voice yell: "Go on, get! Leave, yer bloody nightmare, there's only kids here!" He recognised it as Hagrid's and came to, realising he was on the floor rather than on his seat. Ron and Hermione helped him up, both of them looking pale.

"What was that," Hermione said with a quivering voice Harry had never heard before.

"There's only one thing I've heard of that can do that," Ron said grimly, but Hagrid beat him to it.

"It was a dementor. Ever since that Black fellow escaped, they've been scouring the countryside, including the forest, thinking he might hide in there. But he doesn't hide in my cabin!" The last sentence was shouted out through the window at the retreating shape, now in the distance.

"Why - what do they do? I heard voices, and... felt pain," Harry said, surprised at how small and shaky his own voice was.

"It's what they do," Ron said. "They suck out all your happy emotions, feed on 'em, and make you relive your worst nightmare instead. It's why Azkaban is so feared, they guard that place. You get stuck in there, you don't leave. You just sit there, losing the will to live, going mad." Except for Sirius Black, Harry added in his thoughts. He would have to find out how; the ability to escape what seemed a flight-proof prison was invaluable.

The encounter with the dementor cast a rather heavy shadow over their visit to Hagrid, but they promised to visit him again nonetheless. On the walk back to the castle, nobody said much; Harry had become aware that of the three of them, he had reacted worst. For weeks he had been training himself, disciplining himself, strengthening himself. And yet the moment he came close to one of these creatures, it had all been undone. Voldemort did not even need a wand to defeat him; just find a dementor willing to join forces with him and that was that. Harry's mood was so gloomy he just muttered an inaudible goodnight to Hermione before going straight to bed. He had a new item added to his list: defence against dementors.

Next session with Moody, Harry asked him about dementors.

"There's a spell, the Patronus one. It's advanced magic, but I reckon you could learn it if you applied yourself."

"I will, professor, rest assured. Is it taught at Hogwarts?"

"I think it's part of the sixth-year curriculum. Are you asking me to introduce it early to your class?"

"No need, professor, I know some seventh-year students who can help me," Harry said, thinking on his duel club. It was the perfect spell for everybody to learn. Even if they were meant to learn it later on at Hogwarts, the presence of dementors right now meant it could become necessary right now.

"There's something else we should discuss then," Moody said. They had finished the now 30 seconds of Cruciatus, and Harry was back on his seat with his complimentary pain-numbing potion.

"I found out that Dumbledore thought what I'm teaching you here is Occlumency. While I thought _he_ was teaching you that!" The dry barky laughter came again. "Needless to say, I recovered the situation and informed that your Occlumency skills are coming along nicely."

"And err, what is Occlumency?"

"It is the ability to close your mind against magical attacks. Spells and such that would probe your mind, alter your memories or search them, read your thoughts etc. A bit akin to the Imperius curse; the fact that you can throw that one off should mean you'll learn Occlumency pretty soon enough."

Harry sat in silence for a moment. He had not even been aware that such spells existed; well he knew memories could be wiped, it was how the magical world maintained its secret existence. But mind-reading, going through somebody's memories... Harry was struck again by how woefully unprepared he felt. But there was nothing to do but get to work on remedying that.

"So, you'll teach me Occlumency?" Moody nodded in response.

"I was thinking we'd devote half an hour to it each time you came here; before we move on to the physical aspect of your training," Moody put it delicately.

"And it will lend some credit to your story that I'm tutoring you privately. If anybody asks, go ahead and tell them about Occlumency. I heard you talking about auror training with your friends, and Occlumency is a basic requirement for any auror so nobody should find it strange."

Harry readily agreed; although he was dismayed at discovering this weakness in his defences, he was glad that the opportunity to rectify it so quickly presented itself.

Returning to the common room, Harry noticed with satisfaction that nobody seemed to notice any discomfort. Although the pain was still practically unbearable, the after-effect had lessened considerably. There were there usual array of board and card games going on, but on Wednesday nights, Harry rarely had the mental stamina to participate. So he took his book on Herbology and read about the plants they were to use in the next lesson. Occasionally though, the letters seemed to swim together and he blinked repeatedly trying to coerce them back into order.

"Harry, have you seen it's Hogsmeade weekend this weekend?" Hermione said, having finished her own homework and now fell into the chair opposite his.

"Err, yeah I noticed," Harry said. He had dismissed Hogsmeade as non-essential; really, all he would do would be to drift around the village, look at the shops without buying anything and eventually they would all get a drink at the Three Broomsticks before returning to Hogwarts. Fun enough on an idle night, maybe, but not enough to warrant a diversion from his new pursuits.

"Well, we should cancel the - club meeting right? We probably won't be enough to do anything efficiently," Hermione said.

"But..." Harry began. He wanted to argue that the duelling club was perhaps the most important thing there was, nothing else trained him in such a way for what was to come. But looking into Hermione's quizzical eyes, he was reminded that his priorities were not the same as everybody else's. "Yeah, of course, I hadn't thought of that. I'll let Fabe and Gabe know when I have class with them next," Harry said, using the nickname for the Ravenclaw twins since Fabian and Gideon was rather unwieldy names in ordinary conversation.

"You're coming too, right?" Hermione managed to phrase the question as if it were a certainty, while her expression made was doubtful.

"Of course, wouldn't miss it," Harry said. He'd still have a good time, he knew, and since he couldn't practise duels anyway... It would also seem odd to his friends if he stayed home. It had happened so gradually that Harry had barely been aware of it, but he had steadily adopted an attitude of keeping up appearances on all fronts. His increased efforts in class, the duelling club, the sessions with Moody, separating himself from his friends to study more nefarious curses that he felt it necessary to know how to defend himself against... He had an explanation for everything he did, always concealing the truth, and devoting much of his time to maintaining his masquerade that he was still just an ordinary student, worried about owl-levels. His previous commitment to telling Ron and Hermione the truth had been forgotten; somewhere along the way, Harry had eased into the position that it was best they were kept out of it. Voldemort's nemesis was Harry Potter, not anybody else; no need to include anybody else. Besides, noticing the difference in himself and his friends that sprung from his dedication to his fake auror training, Harry did not consider any of them remotely ready for such danger.

So, when he was able to do it without Hermione spotting him, Harry signed up for the Hogsmeade excursion. It turned out that he would have had to do so anyway; one morning he found a note that simply said: _My source will meet you Friday evening at the Shrieking Shack_. Wondering exactly how Dumbledore's postal service worked to drop off such ominous messages in such an ominous way, Harry then spent the morning considering who the source might be. One part of him did want to meet Dumbledore's informant, if only to hear straight from the source that it was Pettigrew and not Black who should be the focus of his enmity. Another part of him knew, however, that if this source had managed to fool Dumbledore, it was rather likely he would fool Harry too. He would just have to rely on Dumbledore having done his homework and trust the informant like Dumbledore did. After Magical Theory, the Ravenclaw twins were disappointed that duelling club was cancelled; they had been to Hogsmeade often enough that they did not mind skipping it on occasion; true to their house, they were more interested in honing their abilities.

"Sorry guys, we'll make up for it Monday. I'd like to learn the Patronus spell, if you can teach it to me then," Harry said. The brothers did not seem to find this strange; perhaps they also knew that dementors prowled the lands.

"Sure thing, mate," Gideon said. Unlike the Weasley twins, thankfully these two looked nothing alike and Harry had no trouble distinguishing them. "Hey, what did you think of Waffling's lesson today? What he said about putting spells on items, the way he described it, I'm not sure that's feasible, but he wouldn't let me speak."

"That's because he knew your argument already, probably heard it a thousand times before, and thought it a waste of time to refute it again. Just because such spells are usually activated verbally, doesn't mean it's the only way. A sufficiently clever wizard could probably activate it silently too," Fabian countered. Harry left the two brothers deep in argument, avoiding lunch in order to go to the greenhouse and check on some of his projects. Sprout had given him seeds of certain plants he had asked for. Gillyweed, which was not native to Britain and required special care; but the ability to function underwater had seemed invaluable to Harry. Dittany, which helped blood to clot; certain curses could cause wounds that would not heal, but the magical properties of dittany would counter that. Knotgrass, which helped one recover quicker from magical exhaustion, and other examples of flora like that. Harry had convinced Sprout that he wanted to try his hand at cultivating these usually rare and difficult herbs in preparation for owl-levels; if the professor knew what Moody knew, she did not let it show, but simply gave him the seeds he asked for, along with instructions. Harry noticed with satisfaction that all his plants seemed to grow as they should, and a few might even soon be ready for harvest.

When dinner came, Harry glanced at the Hufflepuff table and was reminded that Cedric was also part of the club. Harry had made a point out of talking to Cedric outside of the club too, so it would seem as if a friendship had formed between them and nobody would consider it odd that Harry walked over to the Hufflepuff table, leaned down and exchanged a few words with Cedric. Quietly informing him that Friday evening was cancelled, Harry moved to his own table to take a seat. Despite the cancellation of duel club, he felt in a good mood. His plants were growing well and promised to be extremely useful if, as Dumbledore had warned, Harry would not be able to return to Hogwarts. At first, the thought had seemed ludicrous. Even at the height of his power, Voldemort had never dared to assault Hogwarts. But Dumbledore would not give a warning needlessly; Harry had reasoned that Dumbledore was not certain he would always be able to protect Harry and Hogwarts. It made sense; however much Harry might be the symbol of resistance against Voldemort, Dumbledore was the mind that organised it, and it was all too likely that Dumbledore's demise was being plotted with equal enthusiasm as his own. Or maybe Dumbledore would have to leave Hogwarts to continue the fight elsewhere; Harry had not forgotten Dumbledore's cryptic comment about taking measures to destroy Voldemort's life force. And Harry had certainly not forgotten Pettigrew's appearance in his own bedroom; in darker dreams, he saw the shape loom over his bed before it morphed into a rat. No, it was foolish to think he would always be safe at Hogwarts. But if Hogwarts at some point in the future would not be an option, then neither would Diagon Alley or Gringotts. That cut Harry off from his money and where he could get supplies - he might be able to get help from friendly wizards, but right now he only knew where the Weasleys lived. He had no idea where to find any other wizards around Britain who might aid him. Something he should remedy, Harry considered. There was no telling how long he might be on the run, hiding from Voldemort and his sympathisers.

"What are you thinking Harry?" Ginny's voice cut through Harry's thoughts.

"Oh, just Hogsmeade," Harry lied, practically on instinct.

"You're going too, I take it?" Ginny asked, to which Harry nodded.

"I'm going with some of my friends; maybe later in the evening we could all meet up at the inn, get a table?" she continued.

"Ehm, sure, sounds great," Harry answered. Ginny smiled which Harry returned almost by reflex and she turned to talk to her friends sitting on the other side of her. Harry glanced at her, having gotten to know her a little better through the duel club. She was rather willowy in stature, which aided her in avoiding spells sent against her, and she was dexterous when it came to returning fire. She was the youngest member of the club and she did lose her share of duels, but only because the competitive level was so high, with half the club composed of sixth- and seventh-year students. Against Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville she usually fared better.

"Harry? Your dinner?" Harry realised he must have been staring, or certainly seemed lost in thought. Hermione's voice directed his attention back on the plate in front of him, and he expedited some carrots and his pieces of roast.

Friday passed as usual, with one exception. Harry used his lunch time to go to Hagrid's cabin. He was delighted to get a visit, though unsure why Harry came alone.

"I have a favour to ask, Hagrid. I know you often travel, into forests too like the Forbidden Forest."

"Yeh, and?"

"Could you take me with you some time? Like, a weekend evening, camp out in the forest for the night."

"Harry, you know I can't take students with me in the Forbidden Forest, at least not without a damn good reason. And certainly there's no reason good enough to warrant spending the night there."

"Dumbledore asked me to get ready," Harry said. "I may have to manage on my own, and spend days away from civilisation. And while magic can get me far, there might be times when it's safer to light a fire using natural means rather than attracting attention by using magic." One of Moody's lessons had covered wards and how they might detect spell-casting in a certain area, which was why a wizard on his guard should only use magic if necessary.

"Or I might get lost and need to find my bearings. I know some astronomy, I can find the north star, but it's different doing that at the top of the astronomy tower for a lesson than if you're out in the cold, alone in a forest and lost." Harry opened his mouth to make more examples, but Hagrid raised his hand.  
"Alright, alright, yer convinced me. Just get Dumbledore's approval; I don't want to bring students with me into the Forbidden Forest for an overnight stay unless he's given the go ahead."

"That should not be difficult, thank you Hagrid." Harry stayed for a while longer, drinking tea and asking questions about the Forbidden Forest, now that it had already served as the topic. It was severely warded to prevent Muggles from getting too close, and a clan of centaurs considered it their territory; they were very territorial, especially against wizards, but also against humans in general. They were not particularly fond of giants either, but given the close proximity to Hogwarts they had some kind of uneasy truce with its headmaster and staff. The teachers did not bother the centaurs and except for Hagrid none of them ever ventured there; in return, the centaurs did not kill those foolish students who strayed into the forest merely because they had to go where they had been expressly forbidden to go.

Harry's final lesson was Divination, in which Trelawney predicted that blood would be spilled and Harry should beware. Harry accepted the customary warning with grace, attempting to strike a balance between remaining polite to his professor without actually making it seem like he believed her and encouraged the behaviour.

"Mad old spinster," Ron muttered as they left the tower. Trelawney had yet to give him such specific predictions, except the one time she warned him against the lizard that would precipitate his death. For a while, Ron had acted skittish around some of the lizards they encountered while outside for Care of Magical Creatures, until Hermione's unspoken scorn had made him stop.

"But hey, Hogsmeade tonight! Been saving money for this since we started this year," Ron continued. Indeed, Harry had noticed that at least two essays to Binns had come out of Ron's quill rather than his pocket.

"Yep, it'll be great," Harry said tonelessly. His mind was on the informer that he was to meet; it had only dawned on him recently that he was going to leave the protection of Hogwarts, going to a place that was left in perfect solitude to meet somebody claiming that Harry's worst enemy apart from Voldemort was really his friend. Harry's developing paranoia was more than disturbed by this scenario, but he was too curious to stay away.


	9. Hogsmeade

The Gryffindors of his year went to Hogsmeade in a single group that then disintegrated as they reached the village. Harry stayed with his friends for a while, visiting the various shops until he felt he could excuse himself. He made up some reason about his Ravenclaw friends wanting to show him something; since the students usually moved in groups of their own house, Harry had found that this gave him an easy way to separate from his Gryffindor friends by pretending to go see somebody from Ravenclaw. Arranging to meet up at the Three Broomsticks afterwards, Harry walked through the village until he felt he had slipped from everybody's sight. Then he turned up a lonely, unused path towards the Shrieking Shack. According to lore, the most haunted house in Britain; on occasion, students would claim to have gone there and see terrible things. Since, however, no harm ever actually seemed to come to anybody who went there, Harry had his doubts about the place. If it were haunted, the ghosts did not have any interest in the living.

"Harry?" A hoarse voice called his name from a small distance, to his right in between the trees. Harry turned, his hand on his wand though not drawn. And then a shape appeared from behind the trunk of a tree, slowly stepping forward and into clear vision. Harry almost drew his wand per instinct as he saw that it was a tall man with long, tattered dark hair, worn clothes and a starved look to him. It was none other than Sirius Black.

"I'm glad you wanted to meet me. I'm sorry we didn't warn you; but I am such a sought-after man, Dumbledore doesn't dare to reveal my identity if he can avoid it. We're only meeting now because I insisted," Sirius said. Harry had to continuously remind himself that the man, whose picture he had stared at with intense hatred, was not his enemy. At least not if Dumbledore was to be trusted. Harry's hand remained on his wand, though he fought the urge the pull it out.

"I imagine you wanted to explain yourself to me," Harry said, doing his best to control his voice. Sirius nodded.

"I know what you think of me, what everybody thinks of me. I was more or less resigned to my fate in Azkaban, I guess; more than thirteen years of dementors will do that to you," Sirius said, and could not mask the pained expression on his face. It gave the impression of a man not only hunted and starved, but at the edge of life. Unconsciously, Harry relaxed a little and his own features softened.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. Having met a dementor recently he could not fathom what their constant presence might have for an effect.

"I saw the picture," Sirius explained, "the Weasley family winning the lottery. I've seen Pettigrew change into a rat more times than I can count, I'd recognise him anywhere. And the missing claw made me certain. I thought he died, you see, that his spell back-fired so horribly it killed not only all those Muggles but also himself. Maybe I should be thankful he survived... it gave me the resolve to escape."

"How did you escape Azkaban?" Harry said, remembering this question.

"I have a secret," Sirius said with a smile. "Pettigrew is not the only unregistered animagus. It was a risk, I tell you, more than once I thought I was caught before I managed to flee that accursed island. But the dementors didn't know to look for a dog." And then, before Harry's eyes, Sirius' body shrunk in size and he went down on all four; and where the wizard had stood was now a large black dog. One that Harry recognised as his visitor on Privet Drive.

"You, you're the dog!" Harry gasped.

Sirius turned back into his human form. "I am sorry I deceived you; you didn't know the truth so I couldn't reveal myself, but I had to see you... give myself something to do to keep me sane."

The thought that he had fed a grown man and scratched him behind the ear was more than unsettling, but Harry could see the reasoning. And it was not hard to forgive a man who had suffered thirteen years in Azkaban unjustly.

"How did you get Dumbledore to trust you? I mean, tell him the truth," Harry said, adding the last part hastily.

"I found Lupin first." Of course, his only remaining childhood friend. "He was rather hesitant to believe me, but I suspect he wanted to so much that he gave me the benefit of the doubt. He convinced Dumbledore to hear me out, and it was easy to determine whether I was right. Dumbledore informed Arthur Weasley straight away, who took your friend's pet rat and found out whether he was a human in disguise or not. Needless to say, poor Arthur was shocked when Pettigrew appeared before his eyes."

"But why aren't you cleared? If Arthur Weasley knows you're innocent." Sirius shook his head, his long hair reinforcing the sad impression this gave.

"Arthur is a well-known supporter of Dumbledore, while a low-ranking Ministry employee. His word alone does not carry much weight; Dumbledore's does, but he was not present, he only knows what Arthur said. And the proof escaped; it only took a moment's inattention, and Peter was gone." Harry noticed that Sirius had changed to using the first name of his old friend; force of habit, maybe. The bitterness in Sirius' voice was not to be mistaken, though.

"Only a few know the truth, Lupin, Dumbledore, Arthur, a few others in the Order and now you."

"The Order?"

"Dumbledore hasn't told you?" Sirius said surprised. "I thought he had told you everything; then again, everything is a lot, it has to come in chunks I guess. The Order is a group we organised to fight Voldemort; I was a part of it, as was your father, and Lupin, and Dumbledore its head of course."

"There's so much I didn't know," Harry said contemplatively.

"You'll get to know more. We're using my old house as a base; when the year ends, you can stay there for the summer holiday. If you want to rather than your relatives," Sirius said hesitantly. He did not know that what he offered Harry was equal to a utopian dream.

"I would love to!" Not only be free from the Dursleys, but be surrounded by people who were wizards, who could tell him all sorts of things about his parents.

"Oh good!" Sirius said with visible relief. "You know, if things had gone different... I was your godfather, you see, well I suppose technically I still am though I have never fulfilled the role. I know of course it's fourteen years too late, and I can't really step into your aunt's place. But, what I mean to say is, you can consider my house your home."

"You'd be surprised," Harry said dryly as Sirius mentioned his aunt. "I would really like to stay at your place, Sirius, don't worry." No matter what, it could only be better than Privet Drive.

"Good!" Sirius repeated. "I would like to stay and get to you know you more, but we'll have the summer for that; I should go, rather than tempt fate. And you better get back before you're missed." They stood some steps apart, a little awkward since neither seemed to know how to end the conversation; then Sirius stepped forward and swept Harry into an embrace. And Harry, always susceptible to displays of affection having rarely known them, returned the hug and felt something soften deep inside his mind. Then, just as quickly, Sirius stepped back and was replaced by a great, black hound.

Harry watched the dog disappear, then hurried back to Hogsmeade. He had not forgotten that dementors roamed the area and getting caught alone with one of them would be terrible. He relaxed a little as he reached the houses and made his way to the inn that was bustling with light and sounds of merriment. Once inside, he quickly located his fellow Gryffindors who had not only saved him a seat but also purchased his first drink. Ginny's doing, he presumed, since the seat was next to her and she pushed the drink to him. He accepted gratefully, having plenty of new information he needed to wash down. After a few heavy sips, which attracted an amused stare from Ginny, Harry felt far more relaxed. After all, Sirius' information had been pleasant news. That he would be spared the Dursleys for the summer was probably the best thing anybody had told him since Hagrid had delivered his Hogwarts letter on his 11th birthday. The prospect of a summer as happy as those days he had spent at the end of the last one with Hermione, except it would last the entire summer, raised Harry's mood to unusual heights, and it was further augmented by the inn's butterbeer. He laughed and made Ginny laugh as they spoke together about all and sundry. Lowering their voices, thinking themselves discreet, they discussed the duelling club, and Harry paid her various compliments on her skills. She in turn divulged that the duelling club was her favourite activity on Hogwarts.

"It makes you feel so alive, doesn't it," Ginny said. "Evading spells, feeling the air crackle as they whistle past you, seeing a well-aimed spell of your own hit the mark." Harry agreed completely, feeling happier than he had in weeks. And then their conversation quieted down, and Harry found Ginny looking at him intently, before she moved a little closer. Oh God, she's going to kiss me, Harry realised. Well, would that be so bad, he instantly thought. She's not bad to look at, not at all, I like talking to her, and I bet it would be nice.

Whether it would be nice or not, Harry did not find out. An almost shrill voice, dripping with scorn, snapped like a whip.

"Well, Potter! Here I thought you were charming Granger up, the way you've been competing with her for the title of Hogwarts' most boring bookworm. But maybe she didn't like having her spot in danger?" Malfoy had entered the room, flanked by his usual henchmen. All the Gryffindors, about half a dozen or more, got up from their seats.

"Shut your mouth!" Ron yelled, with Hermione restraining him.

"If I want to hear from you, Weasley, I'll throw a Galleon your way," Malfoy said with a contemptuous smile. There was nobody who restrained Harry, who stepped forward between the tables until he stood only a few steps away from Malfoy.

"You're causing trouble, and nobody wants you here. Do the sensible thing and leave," Harry said, his teeth gritted. Malfoy's response was a laughter.

"I'm tired of you, Potter! Everyone scraping to you, now the teachers too. For what? Letting your parents die instead of yourself, how noble, how well done," Malfoy sneered. There was an uproar at this insult, clearly felt to be crossing the line. I did try and be polite first, Harry thought.

"I think I told you you'd get what you deserve before me," Harry reminded him. Since he did not have his hand on his wand, Malfoy did not see the threat; he was brought up in a household where magic was everything, and done to solve everything. So he was completely taken by surprise when Harry's fist closed the gap between them and made impact with a crushing sound on Malfoy's nose.

The blond-haired boy fell on his feet, blood gushing all over his face. Crabbe and Goyle stood dumbstruck, since neither was the type to take initiative and Malfoy was too distracted to give any orders. Knowing he would be branded the troublemaker, Harry quickly left the inn before he might be thrown out, or Malfoy came to and tried to strike back.

"Harry, what were you thinking!" Hermione was right behind him, and once outside on the street she did not hesitate to reproach him. "Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you are in?"

"It is worth a year's detention to do that," Harry muttered. "Besides, this is Hogsmeade, not Hogwarts."

"You're lucky if you don't get expelled! It doesn't matter where it happened, we're in the middle of a school year and we're students of Hogwarts who have been given permission to visit the village." Hermione's voice grew only more exasperated.

"He bloody well deserved it," Ron said under his breath, not loud enough to attract Hermione's ire.

"He was insulting you too," Harry said, raising his voice. Until Malfoy came, the evening had been almost perfect. Freed from the Dursleys, talking to Ginny, maybe a little more, and then that blond viper had to ruin everything. And while Harry expected Malfoy to be a blight upon his life, he did not expect Hermione to turn against him.

"Oh don't you argue that, Harry! I can defend myself if I need to, and unlike you, I think before I say or do anything! Don't you ever consider what you're doing, how it affects people around you?" And with that as her finishing salvo, Hermione turned on a heel and began walking back to the castle.

"I better follow her back, she seems upset," Ron said and followed suit. Harry didn't say anything to acknowledge this, he just stared at Hermione's back as she retreated.

"I thought you threw a good punch," Ginny said. She had been waiting until tempers finished flaring down and now approached Harry.

"Thanks," he mumbled, before giving her a vague impression of a smile. The moment was lost, but it was better to have her here than standing alone on the street.

"I'm going back to the castle," Harry said. "Want to join me for the walk?"

"Sure."

Although the following day was a Saturday, it brought little relief to Harry. After breakfast, he found himself summoned to the deputy headmistress' office. His heart sank as he walked what seemed like a heavy road; he had not seriously entertained the possibility he might be expelled, he did not think Dumbledore would agree to that. But if that was the punishment for what he had done, maybe it was not up to Dumbledore. He knocked, was given leave and entered the office. Behind her desk sat McGonagall, imposing as always; on one of the chairs in the room sat Malfoy. Harry noted with satisfaction that his nose was rather red and looked sore; magic could only speed up healing to a certain degree. If he were to be expelled at least it was for a good reason.

"Mr. Potter, physically assaulting another student is one of the most serious offences a student can commit. Do you have anything to say to your defence?"  
Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, but a raised hand from McGonagall silenced him.

"Malfoy was being his usual self, begging to be punched, so no, I guess I have no excuse for why I did it this one time when I've restrained myself all the other four years," Harry said coolly, enjoying the insult he managed to pack into his reply. He knew of course exactly why; Malfoy had interrupted a perfect evening, and with the sandbag in the Dursleys' basement in fresh memory, his hand had practically moved on its own. Muscle memory, Harry thought, a wonderful thing.

"Well that is not an acceptable answer," McGonagall said. "You are forbidden from Hogsmeade the rest of the year, and most likely the rest of your stay at Hogwarts." Not the worst punishment, Harry thought, since he had little interest in going there anyway and might not even be staying at Hogwarts in the next years.

"You will have detention every evening for the next month, usually to help Mr. Filch in maintaining the castle. Or help Hagrid care for the animals of the grounds. Without magic, of course," McGonagall continued. That meant cleaning up dung, Harry knew, not something he looked forward to, but manageable. Still worth the punch.

"And this is the punishment for the first time you've committed this offence. If it happens again, Mr. Potter, expect expulsion. If the assault is bad enough, a snapped wand too and a notice to Mr. Ollivander that you are barred from buying a new one," McGonagall finished. More serious, but a conditioned sentence, not a punishment in effect now. All in all, Harry did not feel too bad.

"Is that it?!" Malfoy's disbelief overwhelmed his voice, which cracked. Or maybe the damaged airways in his nose, Harry thought with glee.

"What about the humiliation I suffered? The pain? Isn't he going to pay for that?"

"Mr. Malfoy, what do you expect? That I drag Mr. Potter down to the Great Hall and in front of everybody give him a punch? We do not practice eye for an eye justice here, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said. With long, sinewy arms, Harry imagined she could pack a good wallop if she wanted to. It was clear that Malfoy wanted to shout yes, it was exactly what he wanted, but even he knew McGonagall would not go for it. Then an idea entered Harry's head, and it seemed the best he had ever had since his previous one to punch Malfoy.

"We could duel," Harry said, which turned surprised eyes on him. "Not a lethal one, of course. But a duel to settle our differences. Malfoy will get his chance to throw jinxes and hexes at me all he wants, without being punished for it - non-lethal hexes, of course.

McGonagall had been on the verge of protesting, but now she closed her mouth again.

"Professor Snape and Professor Moody can supervise; one is the head of Malfoy's house, the other is our resident expert on duels. They'll make sure we don't cheat, everything happens according to the rules and Malfoy gets his chance to get even the proper way," Harry said, knowing his argument gained strength when he appealed to tradition. It did not really matter whether traditions were completely wrong or pointless, anybody who grew up in the wizard world seemed to attach great importance to them and their continuation.

"I agree," Malfoy said with a venomous look. Harry was not in doubt that Malfoy knew a dozen very nasty curses that could not be considered lethal, but would nonetheless inflict exactly the kind of pain and humiliation on him that Malfoy was starving to dish out.

"I will first talk with Professors Snape and Moody," McGonagall said. "If they agree, maybe we can settle things this way. No matter what though, detention and no Hogsmeade for you, Mr. Potter."

Back in the common room, Harry was received with widespread appreciation. Practically everybody in the Gryffindor tower had at one point wanted to give Malfoy a beating, and Harry had come the closest to fulfilling this collective dream. People's admiration only soared when Harry explained his suggestion of a duel, to which the consensus was that this was brilliant; especially those members of the duelling club, who knew Harry had an edge. The only exception to Harry's admirers was Hermione, who snapped her book together with a loud noise when a duel was mentioned; and then she pointedly marched up to her room.

"She's really angry with you," Ron said rather superfluously. He also seemed a bit unaffected by the popular opinion; perhaps he was annoyed it was not him who had got to not only hit Malfoy but now also duel him with the school's permission.

"She'll get better," Harry said. Considering that she was one of his two best friends that he spent most of his time with, especially given their many joint projects and the duelling club, Harry assumed she would have to come around. Sooner or later, anyway.

"Don't be too sure of yourself," Ron simply said and then left for his own room. Harry stayed and retold a few more times what he had said to Malfoy in McGonagall's office, then he went to the greenhouse to check on his plants. He spent the afternoon there, having coaxed additional seeds from Sprout and was rather enjoying his hobby as a gardener. Mandrakes were a pain to handle, but their ability to reverse magical effects could be a vital part of his preparations. Of course, that probably required somebody to be around to use the mandragora on him, and Harry was planning on travelling alone. But maybe he would come across somebody else who could use mandrake extract, and he would hate himself for not having prepared for it.

After the greenhouse, Harry's textbook on Magical Theory was his next victim. He had abandoned wandless magic, it was simply too difficult or abstract; maybe when older, when he understood magic better. Instead he turned towards Waffling's writings on the permanence of magic, how to set up wards and spells that lasted longer than when they were actively sustained. Or how spells might lie dormant, but fully potent until activated. This was not as practical knowledge as most of Harry's other pursuits, but he found the reading interesting, to delve into the very nature of magic. And there was one practical side to it, being able to keep spells up without focusing on it or devoting his energy to it. Again, Harry realised how envious Hermione would be if she knew just what Harry was learning; the subject of Magical Theory had been on her wish list of subjects since she learned of its existence. The thought of Hermione and her anger bothered him a bit, but he considered her reaction more severe than justified. When she saw that too, she would calm down.


	10. Punishment

The evening was Harry's first detention. Filch's primary joy in life seemed to find the worst jobs and punishments he could expose students to; probably why he got along so well with Snape. Every armour in the castle had to be polished; every piece of their equipment. Harry had to dismantle them, polish everything to perfection, reassemble the armour, give them their weapons back in hand in proper position (Filch was very careful that they looked exactly as they did before) before he was allowed to move on to the next. In one evening, under Filch's strict supervision, Harry managed one set of armour; Filch was happy to inform him that there were over a hundred in the castle, and he had gotten McGonagall's approval to extend Harry's detention until all were polished. A final slap on the wrist by the deputy headmistress, Harry thought with a sour look. A quick calculation meant that he might end up looking at three rather than one month's worth of detention, especially if some nights he were to help Hagrid as well.

When the detention was finally done Harry felt sore in his arms, not accustomed to using them this way. The only thing that kept him from complaining was that he did not want anything to retract from his glory in having punched Malfoy; he would bear his punishment with head held high - and hiding how limp his arms felt. Thankfully the next day was Sunday, which allowed him to rest and recover before evening. Now the other consequence of his lack of forethought hit him. He spent three nights every week on his preparatory activities. A month's detention, if he did not get more, meant at least 8 missed duelling club nights and 4 sessions with Moody. He would have to ask to get the schedule moved. But when he tried to spread the message that he would like the duelling club to start earlier, there was firm resistance on Hermione's part. And her will proved the stronger; none could get her to budge, as she refused to compromise to accommodate somebody who was receiving their just punishment. Harry would just have to leave early. Moody was more reasonable, agreeing to let Harry come to his office earlier for Occlumency lessons. And then Harry spent Sunday night like the previous one, though he managed to finish three suits of armour this time now he knew what to do. If circumstances had been different, he might have enjoyed the feeling of their weapons, trying on a few pieces of equipment. But under Filch's judging gaze Harry did not dare try any such thing, plus he was far too occupied with getting his work done to spend any time idly. And then, when he was done and returned late at night to his chamber, he found a note from McGonagall. Snape and Moody had agreed to the duel, and it was set on Friday, one hour after the dinner bell had rung. Harry felt a tingle of excitement and would have planned his strategy straight away; but he made the mistake of lying down on his bed and he fell asleep.

Monday came and Harry did not feel ready for a new week. His carefully laid schedule had been ruined, albeit through his own actions, and he had not counted on detentions leaving him physically tired. During classes, he struggled to keep up and could not maintain his usual performance. Hermione still worked with him where Herbology and Potions were concerned, not angry enough to do anything that would endanger her results; but she spoke not a single word to Harry except what was absolutely necessary to transmit. In the last couple of weeks, Harry had found that they had moved into an easy rapport, making co-operation natural and fluent. Each anticipated what had to be done next and whom of them should handle it, while the other then focused on the next order of operation. However, now co-operation was stiff and anything but natural or fluent. They mostly communicated what they were going to do next by grabbing the equipment before the other person could, and although their projects did not seem to suffer, there was none of the satisfaction Harry had felt previously when potions brewed correctly or plants sprouted vivaciously. This cold war continued on all fronts. At duelling club, Hermione avoided Harry and preferred to fight Cedric, who was the unofficial champion. For defence class, Hermione still accepted Harry since he was the best opposition, but there was no laughs or smiles after a duel; if one excepted the satisfied expression on Hermione's face when a hex hit its target. And when Harry left or returned for detention, there was no sympathy for his lost time or weariness afterwards. Ron said that his brother Bill had told him when girls seemed madder than what was called for, they were usually mad about something else than the obvious reason. "Though I don't know what Bill knows about girls," Ron said with a shrug. Having seen Bill, with his long hair and fang for an earring, Harry suspected that Bill knew more about girls than the rest of the Weasley brothers put together.

Wednesday night, after Harry's two lessons with Moody were done, he stayed for a while as had become a habit. Moody was a font of knowledge about what one could expect from dark wizards.

"I've never gone out of my way to feel the Cruciatus curse, but you've made a smart move," Moody said. "I can recall at least once it saved my skin. Three death eaters, scum of the earth, got the drop on me," the old auror recounted. "Of course they were terribly pleased with having caught me. They probably all had friends or relatives I'd already sent to Azkaban," Moody laughed.

"So they did some torture on me, thinking themselves really big fellows and all. Nothing I hadn't tried before, of course. They underestimated me, Harry, thought I was broken and battered from their curses; as soon as their attention slipped, I got my wand and made them see their mistake. All three of them still in Azkaban," Moody finished his story. "Your advantage is that you're young, and I bet every dark wizard in the country will underestimate you for it. Harry, what's that you've got there?"

Harry followed Moody's finger to his own chest, where his necklace could be seen underneath. After the Cruciatus curse, his clothes had become dishevelled as he trashed around on the floor, and the locket had fallen forward.

"It was a birthday gift," Harry said, grabbing the chain and lifting the pendant up into the air. "Don't think it's magical though or anything."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," Moody said, extending his open hand. A little confused, but trusting Moody's opinion, Harry unclasped the necklace and let it fall into Moody's hand.

"Also, next Wednesday, I think we should just focus on Occlumency. No amount of exposure can lessen the pain one feels from the Cruciatus curse, but you seem to shake it off as best can be expected. I don't think subjecting it to you further will help anything, and there's no point in making you go through it needlessly. You should still come on Wednesday though, we've far to go with Occlumency."

The pride at Moody's compliment became mixed with the guilt of Moody's reproach. Occlumency was considered one of the hardest mental challenges for a wizard, and Harry had quickly found out why. Nobody could show you how it was done, nobody could demonstrate it for you. They could only give instructions, try and explain the mental processes involved; but until you managed to do it yourself, you could not really grasp how it worked. Moody had procured a book about Occlumency with a ton of mental exercises, which Harry's lunches had been devoted to practising. He had also spent some afternoons with the Ravenclaw twins, who both enjoyed such exercises immensely and helped Harry work on them. Even so, Harry was still nowhere near keeping Moody's mental assaults out of his own mind. And this last round had gone even worse than usual; Hermione's anger kept him off-balance and made it difficult to maintain his focus.

"You have a plan for Friday?" Moody asked.

"I think so," Harry said.

"Duelling in class won't be like this. It's different when your opponent is actively out to hurt you. Even if he can't do seriously damaging spells, it's still different when the other guy doesn't care what happens to you."

Hermione had not pulled any of her punches lately, Harry thought a little frustrated, so he felt he had a good idea of how duelling Malfoy might be. Still, he appreciated Moody's advice and thanked the professor before he left his office for detention.

That at least was going a little better. Filch did not intend to spend all of his evenings either supervising Harry's work, so now he merely came at the end to check if it had been done well enough. So although polishing the armours was as dull as ever, at least Harry was spared Filch's menacing gaze on his every move. Since the work required little of his mind, Harry went through some of the exercises he could remember from the book on Occlumency. He found that in some ways his hands doing repetitive motions helped; it was easier to clear his mind and avoid letting any thoughts settle. It was of course more or less impossible not to think about anything; but the trick was to banish any thought as soon as it came into your head, never dwell on it. Another exercise was the opposite. Think about something mundane, not interesting; a white wall, for instance. And keep thinking about it. Nothing else. Not imagine any other colours, any bricks visible, any particular shape the wall might take. A completely ordinary, boring wall without colours or anything to distract the mind. And keep focus on that thought for as long as possible. Steel your mind to think about one thing regardless of any interest it held to you, and maintain that thought so any mental invasions found no thoughts of importance or value to steal.

The exercises helped passed the time much faster, and Friday evening came soon enough. An hour after the bell had rung, the tables of the Great Hall had been pushed aside. On the plateau where the teachers dined were only two chairs, occupied by Snape and Moody. The rest of the tables and chairs stood along the walls and had been made into spectator stands. Half the school had turned up to witness the duel, since it was a rare sight. Actual duels to the death had been banned by the Ministry more than a century ago, and with the decline of the practice there was also a decline in duelling clubs; Hogwarts had not had one in a long time. The headmaster of the time felt that the injuries often sustained was not worth any benefit having the club brought with it, nor did he feel it should be encouraged that students duelled when adults were forbidden. Hence the club had been closed and duels in Hogwarts had been forbidden under the general rule that forbade students fighting each other. This would be the first sanctioned duel in Hogwarts in decades; of course, over the years, more than one unsanctioned duel had been fought between rivals and students who had made enemies of each other. Harry noticed that the whole of the duelling club was present, which raised his spirits. Hermione too, though he was less sure whom she favoured in this fight.

Moody rose and his dry voice rang out across the hall. "There are certain rules to observe in a duel," Moody said. Everybody who knew him though could imagine what he thought about rules where fighting was concerned; they usually meant that whomever broke them best would win.

"And they will be observed, or the violation will be punished. No spells capable of lethal or serious harm," Moody continued. "As fifth-years, you should be able to know where the line is; if not, rest assured we will educate you. The duellists will bow first, and then on my mark, not before, may they begin casting spells."

Harry and Malfoy each made the smallest motion possible that could still be interpreted as a bow. Each gripped his wand tightly in his hand, eyes staring at each other with equal parts concentration and enmity. Then a loud crack was heard, Moody's signal. Malfoy made a quick wave with his wand that sent a ray of blue light against Harry. The incantation that followed was sectumsempra, a spell that would cause slashes to appear all over the victim's body. And when cast as expertly as Malfoy did, who had obviously practised many times, the wounds inflicted would be many.

Only if the spell hit, of course. As soon as the signal was given, Harry dropped to one knee and quicker than lightning flung expelliarmus upon his adversary. Malfoy's spell flew over Harry's head and did nothing, but he was in return knocked back by Harry's spell. When cast as well as Harry had, it not only disarmed him of his wand but allowed Harry to guide its course. As he stood up again, he caught Malfoy's wand with his free hand. Still on his back, Harry walked over to Malfoy and towered over him, before dropping the wand on the floor for Malfoy to collect. There was a stunned silence in the hall, except for the duelling club members who had expected something like this and cheered. Then most of the hall followed through, apart from those who would have liked to see Harry Potter on the floor rather than Malfoy. He got to his feet, snatched his wand from the ground and yelled loud protests. Moody did not care, of course, and Malfoy found no sympathy with Snape either for such a poor display. But raising a hand to request silence, Harry graciously allowed Malfoy the chance for a rematch. With gritted teeth Malfoy accepted. They took positions, bowed to each other and waited for Moody's signal.

This time, Malfoy did not underestimate Harry. He opted for throwing a quick stunner, yelling stupefy while making an evasive drop to the side. Harry in turn used the strategy he had prepared in case his first plan had failed. Rather than dodge again, he summoned a protective sphere by roaring protego. Although Malfoy had acted within moments, Harry had practised raising the defensive shield so often until he could do it within split-seconds. Malfoy's stun dissolved against Harry's sphere, while he demonstratively stood unmoved in its centre, showing his contempt for Malfoy's spellcraft. Now he employed all he had learned about Malfoy by observing him perform the mock duels in defence class. A quick and proficient spellcaster, but prone to errors in a prolonged fight as his frustration grew. So Harry restricted himself to defensive manoeuvres. Whenever his protego dissolved, the strength of the spell spent, Harry waited until he saw Malfoy move his wand and only then did he once more raise the shield, taunting Malfoy to cast his curses before Harry's defences were back up. He did not stay immobile during this, of course, since Malfoy was clever enough to mix smaller jinxes into his assaults that would bypass the protego-sphere.

Still Harry made no aggressive move; he only changed his defensive tactics to suit the situation. He flung an unused chair in front of him, deflecting a body-bind that Malfoy was able to cast well enough to get past the protego. Stepping up his game, Malfoy sent a stream of fire against Harry, who countered with aguamenti. Fire met water in the centre of the Great Hall, the flames hissing as they were extinguished. A side-effect was the steam that erupted and suddenly enveloped the duellists. Neither could see each other, but Harry believed he had seen what direction Malfoy moved and now made his own move. The holly wand in Harry's hand flickered lightly, and a loud thump was heard. As the steam evaporated, it revealed the battlefield that had small fires burning the rug, puddles of water, bits of ruined furniture everywhere and most importantly, the two duellists. Harry stood in the middle, tall and fearless. In front of him lay Malfoy, the victim of a full body-bind. He had managed to throw up his own protego as soon as he heard Harry make the incantation, but in his haste, his rage, his frustration, the blond boy had forgotten that protego did not stop this particular spell. Harry turned towards the judges, made a little bow to them and then turned around to walk out of the Great Hall, leaving anybody who cared to release Malfoy.

Outside the Great Hall, his supporters caught up with him. The members of the duelling club were ecstatic, though they managed to avoid mentioning their club or why they had been so certain of Harry's victory. They all moved to the Gryffindor common room; given the celebration and good mood, even those of other houses were allowed inside. It had not occurred to Harry before, but Malfoy was intensely disliked by half the school; if not for his own venomous qualities, then because of his father and his political activities. As his duel was retold in detail by everybody who had watched it, Harry laughed and stayed as long as he could, until he had detention; as he told the room, "I have to go serve my punishment for the other time I humiliated Malfoy."

He left to roars of laughter and even three hours of armour-polishing could not dampen his spirits. When he was finished and returned to the Gryffindor common room, he found somebody still up. To his surprise, it was Hermione. She had been expecting him, he guessed, for as soon as he entered she closed her book and looked at him. He returned her gaze, not sure what was going on, but not wanting to ignore her either and go past her to his room.

"Even if you win a duel, Harry, it doesn't make you right. Being better at throwing spells doesn't prove you were right."

"Come on, are you defending Malfoy? You seriously upset that I punched him?"

"It's not that you hit him, Harry, it's that you didn't think! You could have been expelled! You would have ruined your life, never finished your education, probably gone back to live with the Dursleys for two years until you became an adult. And you'd have left me practically alone here!" the outburst came so rapidly, it was clear it had been building up inside of her for a while. Harry looked at her astonished.

"You - there's Ron, too, and you get along with Parvati and Lavender, don't you," he tried to argue. Her voice calmed a bit.

"It wouldn't be the same, Harry. And... sometimes you just don't seem to be mindful of what people around you are feeling, if you even notice." And finishing on that note, she turned around and went upstairs, leaving Harry to chew on her words. It was true, he certainly had not anticipated Ginny trying anything in the Three Broomsticks until she actually did. Guilt washed over him as he realised how he had spent all of this school year focused on himself, his own efforts and preparations. And deep inside of him was still the needle that continuously stung him each time he remembered that he was lying on a continuing basis to his closest friends.


	11. Wizengamot

When Saturday came, Harry had made a plan. Since Hogsmeade was forbidden for him, he was forced to retain the services of the Weasley twins, who were operating a lucrative black market slash smuggling operation, not unlike that one person in prison movies who always knew how to get anything from the outside. Harry threw galleon after galleon into their hands until they swore to acquire the perfect item for him. That part set in motion, Harry returned to his textbook on Magical Theory and poured over certain chapters, eventually enlisting the aid of brothers Fabian and Gideon. Four twins assisting him, each experts in their field, Harry felt better. He brought the book with him for that evening's armour-polishing, not necessarily to read but simply to remind himself of the relevant chapter and practise. When he returned, however, a note lay on his pillow. _Tomorrow morning after breakfast, my office. Wizengamot. Back before the end of the day_. _Dumbledore_.

It had begun to be a familiar feeling when Harry woke up the next morning, not knowing what the day would bring. Over breakfast he told Ron about his upcoming trip to London and the Wizengamot. Ron seemed mostly envious that Harry got to go to London, and in the company with Dumbledore.

"He seems like a mad blighter, but he's a brilliant kind of mad. I bet he travels in some completely terrific manner," Ron managed to squeeze out between all the toast in his mouth. Harry shrugged, having little preconception. Having never heard about Dumbledore before he was 11, Harry did not have the same image in his mind about the headmaster, greatest wizard of his age, the victor against Grindelwald etc. When Harry finished his own toast, he went back to his room, figuring that some kind of travel cloak might be best since he did not know how they would make their journey. Carrying it folded over his arm, Harry made the familiar trip to Dumbledore's office. He found the headmaster inside, waiting for him.

"Ready, Harry? The Wizengamot does not meet for another hour or two, I think, but I figured I should show you around and explain a few things first," Dumbledore said. Harry nodded. "Oh, you won't need that, I think. The weather is quite pleasant in London at the moment." Harry placed his cloak on the nearest chair and looked expectantly on Dumbledore, who in turn walked over to a wall. He tapped on it with his wand and the shelves parted, as did the bricks themselves to show a passageway. Motioning for Harry to follow him, Dumbledore stepped into the dark corridor. A little uncertain, but also curious, Harry followed after him.

Dumbledore made a light with the tip of his wand, and walked ahead of Harry, who followed right behind. Nothing was spoken for a while, and Harry was unsure how long they walked in the passage; perhaps a few minutes, perhaps many. But eventually he saw a light and finally they stepped out onto a street; after a moment, Harry realised it was Diagon Alley. He turned around quickly and saw behind him an alley, with a stone arch above it at either end. It was under one of these arches they had stepped onto Diagon Alley, though now that Harry looked back he saw only an inconspicuous street.

"How...?"

Dumbledore gave a wry smile. "Secrets of Hogwarts' headmaster, I'm afraid." There was a shortcut from Diagon Alley to the Ministry of Magic, since those two locations were where most traffic in wizard London took place. Exactly where in London the Ministry was, or how it was kept hidden, Harry did not know. It was no mean feat, for merely the entrance hall was of enormous size, tall enough that Big Ben could have fitted inside it. It had numerous floors, Harry easily counted ten and more, before the ceiling vaulted together above their heads into a great dome. On each floor he saw people hurrying this way or that. He presumed there would be some kind of security measures or such, but if there were, Dumbledore seemed to bypass them at will. Harry was surprised to see more than one face he recognised. Some were previous students that had graduated from Hogwarts and begun their careers in the Ministry. Since they were all several years older than Harry, there were none he knew personally though. Not until, as he crossed the hall following Dumbledore, when they were joined by a man easily recognisable for his red hair. Arthur Weasley, head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office and known to be a staunch supporter of Dumbledore.

"Arthur," Dumbledore greeted courteously.

"Albus," replied Mr. Weasley. "I didn't think you would turn up for this vote; it's a given, after all."

"Indeed, but it seemed a good opportunity to introduce Harry to the Wizengamot."

"Of course, and good to see you Harry! You know my wife would like to get a visit from you soon," Mr. Weasley said genially.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley, maybe in the summer I would be glad to," Harry said.

"I think we'll see you down there, Arthur, I'd like to show Harry around first and explain some things."

"Certainly, I have a few matters to settle before the session begins myself. See you in the Chamber."

Harry gave a brief wave to Mr. Weasley who separated from them, moving into an alcove which turned out to be a kind of elevator that instantly brought him to another floor. Dumbledore steered Harry on to the opposite side of the Great Hall of where they had entered, and through a small archway. As they passed a few doors, Dumbledore off-handed remarked what they contained. One was a vault with dangerous artefacts, usually possessing dark magic. Another, which he took more care to point out, also led to a vault but this on under the Department of Mysteries, which kept records of genuine prophecies made. I bet Trelawney would give her right arm to either get in there, or have one of her own mumblings validated by being placed in there, Harry thought as they continued all the way to the end of the path. Now, he noticed that the walls had changed. Where the Ministry so far was built in whitewashed bricks of regular shape, now the path moved down and the walls were built from rough-hewn grey rocks. Harry surmised they were entering the oldest part of the building, which made sense given the Wizengamot was the oldest political institution in magical Britain.

The pathway ended under another arch, through which nothing could be seen. But as Harry passed under the arch, he felt the humming of energy. And once through on the other side the great Chamber of the Wizengamot unfolded before his eyes. 400 seats arranged in the shape of a horseshoe, against the edges of the vaulted room; apart from where the entrance was, the only piece of wall not lined with seats was the one opposite the entrance. Here, a kind of tribunal rose, three chairs, two of them less heightened than the middle one. The room not only vaulted above but was also hollowed out in the middle of the floor, which meant that the open centre was placed lower than any of the seats. It was for a speaker to stand where all might easily see them, but also ideal for placing a suspect or prisoner where they were physically in a lower position than the collective Wizengamot.

"I have had my own place moved so I could sit next to yours," Dumbledore said and pointed out in what direction. Harry went down to the appropriate row and moved until he saw his seat. The chair itself was exactly like all others, but in front of it, on its desk, stood a plaque. It wrote in gold letters: _The House of Potter_. And when Harry sat down in the chair, he saw just below new letters appeared, also gold against the wood: _Harry James Potter_.

"The Wizengamot acknowledges you as owner of this seat and the voice it gives in the assembly," Dumbledore said smiling. Harry looked over to see his plaque, which only read _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_. Since no house was mentioned, Harry presumed this meant Dumbledore's seat did not belong to his family, only himself; it was temporary and would be awarded anew when Dumbledore gave it up.

All while this happened, people were continuously moving back and forth to speak with Dumbledore before giving room to the next. Harry had only ever really thought of him as the headmaster, and it was only now he understood how he was a political player. Everybody who came up had some question or other of political nature, whether it pertained to today's vote or something else. When there was room for it, Harry ventured a question.

"What is the vote today about?"

"A motion has been put forward to rule the Ministry's use of dementors as guards of Azkaban illegal," Dumbledore explained.

"Well that sounds good! I'll vote for that," Harry said quickly, though Dumbledore's frown warned him that all was not that simple.

"Admirable, Harry, as will I. However, before you get your hopes up, I should tell you the motion will not be passed."

"Why not? How can you know?" Dumbledore gave a smile, though it seemed a weary one.

"Time to introduce you to the politics of the wizard world, Harry. Let me explain in full. The motion has been put forward by Lucius Malfoy."

"Malfoy!" Harry almost choked on his own surprise. "Does he want the dementors gone?"

"On the contrary, given how likely they are to support him, it's in his best interest they guard where the worst dark wizards are kept. Allow me to anticipate your next question, why Malfoy would suggest a motion against his own interests." Harry swallowed his question and instead waited for Dumbledore's answer.

"Malfoy knows the motion will not carry. Far too many wizards feel that dementors at Azkaban are a must. But there are two factions in the Wizengamot, Harry. One which you could say is led by me, and one led by Lucius Malfoy. He knows I am forced to vote in favour of the motion; given how often I have spoken against dementors, I can do nothing else. And anybody who will support me even though it is unpopular, anybody who is thus completely aligned with me, will likewise vote for it. But any who is undecided whether to support me or Malfoy will have to make a choice now. It is a way to count influence, you could say; how many Malfoy might presume will vote his way in other, more important matters. And who are completely loyal to my cause, even in the face of unpopularity."

Harry sat silent, digesting this. Just as Dumbledore as a political entity was not something he had considered before, neither had he ever considered how politics worked. It seemed more complicated than he cared about, a game of layers upon layers, analysing moves and predicting your opponent's next one. And Harry's ineptitude where chess was concerned was an indicator of his dislike for such games. Even if duelling had a little of such a nature, it was still a physical act, born as much out of reflex, instinct and practice.

"That's a shame," Harry said, perhaps mostly to himself. "I would have liked to see dementors removed."

"Me too, Harry. Our mutual friend, whom you met in Hogsmeade, will not have been their first nor their last innocent victim, I fear."

The next half hour passed with Dumbledore pointing out people to Harry, people he might need to remember. Chief among these was Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, one of the most senior and powerful positions in the Ministry, often considered second only to the position of Minister itself. She took the tallest of the three tribunal seats.

"You're Chief Warlock, though, aren't you? Wouldn't you preside over the assembly?" Harry asked.

"If I wanted to, yes. But the Chief Warlock appoints somebody to be his replacement for assemblies in his absence, and this replacement may also carry out this function in his presence, at the Chief Warlock's discretion. I have found being on the floor as an ordinary member allows me to speak and move more freely," Dumbledore explained. "And Amelia is a friend I trust," he said, nodding to her in greeting which she returned. Then silence fell over the Chamber as Ms. Bones gestured for the assembly to begin.

"We are here to listen to the motion put forward by Lucius Malfoy, of the permanent seat for House Malfoy. More than 300 members of the Wizengamot are present, making the decisions of this assembly binding in all matters of law. The motion will render the Ministry's use of dementors as guards of Azkaban invalid. As a direct result of this motion, all dementors will immediately be dismissed from Azkaban. Indirect results will be that a new motion is to be decided, which will deal with how these dementors are to be treated, since as they are classified as Dark Creatures they are not permitted to roam freely within the boundaries of magical Britain. A secondary indirect result will be a motion to decide whether this opens the possibility of reparations paid to all those incarcerated currently in Azkaban. As the instigator of the motion, Lucius Malfoy speaks first." She motioned for Malfoy to take the floor, which he did simply be standing up from his seat rather than walk into the centre of the Chamber.

"I believe the motion speaks for itself, and need no further justification before we can vote," Malfoy said. Now that it had been explained to him, Harry understood why. Malfoy was not interested in the motion itself, merely the vote. Meanwhile, a few other members had indicated their desire to speak by tapping their wands on their name plates, which made the golden letters light up.

"Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, has the floor."

"Another way to spread discord between us," Dumbledore remarked quietly to Harry. "Malfoy's faction wishes to put somebody else in Fudge's chair; and while he is certainly not my choice, I and my friends have so far supported him to keep the position out of Malfoy's hands. But Fudge knows the popular opinion, he will speak in favour of dementors as guards and thus deepen the rift between him and my allies." Harry listened and caught the end of Fudge's speech.

"Azkaban can only keep us safe from dark wizards because of the dementors! They are the strongest safeguard we have, suppressing even the most frightening maleficar." Fudge droned on for a while, until others were allowed to speak as well. Harry noticed that Dumbledore saw no reason to; his viewpoint was represented by a witch, Aurelia Greengrass.

"I have tried," Dumbledore said quietly, a touch of sadness in his voice. "I tried many times when I was young, but I didn't have the influence to see it through. And after Grindelwald, when my influence was at its highest, so was the panic of dark wizards. I couldn't accomplish it then - and I have begun to fear that wizards and witches in my lifetime will not grow wise enough that I shall ever see it done."

Harry swallowed, feeling Dumbledore's dismay. He had spent several nights dreaming about his one meeting with a dementor.

Finally Ms. Bones signalled for a vote. This was done by each wizard tapping their plaque, quietly announcing their vote as yes or no. Once registered, the wall behind the tribunal began to glow with names added to either the list for or the list against. Soon, Harry saw his own name glowing among those who had voted yes, such as Dumbledore, Weasley, Greengrass, Bones. But the list was low, little more than fifty. Although Harry knew that many who had voted no were not necessarily supporters of Malfoy otherwise, it did mean that not many were on Dumbledore's side. When the vote was over and the motion was denied, Ms. Bones dissolved the assembly.

"Our business today is done, Harry, but we need not return to Hogwarts straight away. I have a few errands I would not mind getting done with, if you will allow me to delay our return for some hours. I can take you back to Diagon Alley; we can meet up at the Leaky Cauldron before our return trip."

"That sounds great," Harry said. It was so rare he was at Diagon Alley, he did not doubt there was plenty he could spend his time on. And he had given most of his galleons on hand to the Weasley twins, an unforeseen expense. Getting a few more, enough to act as travel and emergency money, seemed like a good idea. Dumbledore followed him back through the pathway and across the Great Hall, opening a doorway which Harry stepped through and found himself once more on Diagon Alley.


	12. Diagon Alley

Harry went to Gringotts straight away and a goblin showed him to his vault. Harry had not been here many times, and he enjoyed both the ride on the little carts, but also seeing the vault door vanish and reveal his pile of gold. He felt like he was looking at a dragon's hoard, with the dragon slain and the hoard his for the taking. Harry stuffed his pockets full of gold, until the goblin coughed discreetly and handed Harry a bag. A kind of customer service, Harry thought as he poured hundreds of galleons into the pouch, which did not increase its weight at all.

"It only accepts certain kinds of metal," the goblin warned. "Gold, silver, anything touched by goblins really." Not only the financial caretakers of the wizard world, the goblins also operated the mint that made galleons, which meant every piece of gold had goblin magic to it. Once done, the pouch tied itself together and the remaining string fitted itself around Harry's belt.

"Nobody can remove that but yourself," the goblin said. "We may not always have stronger magic than wizards, but where gold is concerned, none are our equal," the creature grinned and then took Harry back on the cart trail. A few minutes later and he was in the main hall again, where he exchanged some of his gold for regular English pounds. He had done this once before, but as soon as the Dursleys had found out he had money of his own they had confiscated it, citing expenses for many years of room and board. Now, however, he did not need it because he wanted to be able to buy things independently of the Dursleys, but because he might be in a situation where getting stuff from Muggle stores or using Muggle transportation was the better option.

It was time to explore Diagon Alley. He normally only came here once a year, either accompanied by Hagrid or the Weasley family, to get his school supplies. That usually happened the day before they boarded the Hogwarts train, which meant the streets were overrun with other students. Although still bustling with activity, Harry found there was at least room to move around and none of the shops were filled to the brim with customers. And tucked away between an apothecary and a bookstore, Harry saw a curious sign hanging over a small, inconspicuous door which drew his attention. _Ragnuk Smithy - Artificer since 981_. Hesitating only a moment, Harry opened and stepped through. Inside it was rather dark, a consequence of the small building being overshadowed by its neighbours. In various display cases were shown examples of what was, well, artificed, Harry presumed. Most seemed like weapons of some sort, rather medieval in nature. It fascinated Harry though at the same time he imagined there was not much demand for that, given that wizards just used wands. Of course, maybe these weapons were not intended to be sold to wizards. No matter how much one slept in History of Magic, everybody knew that there had been a number of goblin uprisings and rebellions; and being forbidden to carry wands...

"I am Ragnuk the Seventh, artificer and smith of the finest goblin artefacts; though the goblin part explains itself," said a voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. Harry turned startled to find a dark-skinned, small humanoid creature standing in the other end of the small room by a desk. As the goblin introduced himself, Harry remembered where he had heard the name before. Ragnuk the First, maker of Godric Gryffindor's sword, and if Harry remembered correctly also the instigator of a war between goblins and wizards when the sword was not returned to him after Gryffindor's death.

"I am Harry Potter, student at Hogwarts, slayer of dark wizards; well, one so far, though I hope to add to the count."

To Harry's further surprise, the goblin's wrinkled face turned into a grotesque mask as he cracked a grin. "Even goblins know of you, Harry Potter. Although we generally do not care about the affairs of wizards, He Who Must Not Be Named seemed to made no distinction between his enemies and innocent goblins. Welcome to my shop, where my family for over a thousand years has forged the very best artefacts this land has known. All the way back to Ragnuk the First. Indestructible armour and weaponry, telescopes that can see further than any wizard magic, the most precise weighing scales and cauldrons that cannot be ruined," chanted Ragnuk his sales pitch. Although Harry was fascinated by the weaponry and armour, he knew that was hardly practical. And he already had scales, cauldrons and such. But a telescope might be useful, especially if it did not need magic to activate it.

"How much for a telescope?" Ragnuk sent him a discerning look. Harry felt as if he was being weighed and measured, that the price depended entirely on him, almost like when his wand had chosen him.

"300 Galleons," Ragnuk finally said. It seemed a steep price, but Harry knew that goblin smithing was unmatched. Besides, if his gold lay in Gringotts, it was not of much use to him.

"If you do not have the money at hand, I will accept an authorisation to withdraw the amount from your account at Gringotts," Ragnuk continued, sensing Harry's hesitation. "Normally it is not the custom of goblins to trust payment to come; but I think I can trust the head of House Potter to pay his debt."

"May I try it first?" Harry asked. Now Ragnuk hesitated, but then he opened a display case and pulled out a telescope. When folded together, it fitted into Harry's hand easily and it seemed to barely weigh anything. It shone like gold, made from brass, Ragnuk informed him. Then he gestured for Harry to follow him through a door that led out to the back. Here there was a large open space, which included a great furnace and countless tools, work benches and such.

Pulling the telescope open, Harry gave his glasses to Ragnuk to hold and placed the telescope in front of his eye. He placed it in the direction of St. Paul's and could easily see the dome in detail, though he had no idea how far away it was. Then he found that the band that coiled around the telescope could be pushed in either direction, which increased or decreased how his sight was magnified. Now he could count the tiles on the roof of the dome, now he saw the cracks and lines in each tile.

"Satisfied?" Ragnuk said with certainty in his voice.

"What paper do I sign?" Harry asked, accepting his glasses back and pushing the telescope together.

"Goblin paper, no cheating that," Ragnuk said once inside the shop again, where he pulled out a piece of yellowed parchment. With a quill he quickly wrote that this authorised the Gringotts bank to withdraw 300 Galleons from the vault of Harry James Potter, to be placed in the vault of the family Ragnuk. Then the goblin continued to scribble various runes - the same message, but in goblin letters. Finally, he signed the paper with his name.

"Touch the paper with your wand," Ragnuk instructed, which Harry did. His name appeared in elegant letters beneath Ragnuk's.

"Thank you for your business, Harry Potter." Placing the telescope in his pocket, Harry thanked the goblin in return and exited the shop.

Once outside, Harry amused himself by using his new purchase and seeing how far he could see in either direction. He was curious to see how it worked inside, if it was purely goblin magic or if it had parts like machinery. Of course, he did not dare do anything that might ruin it; 300 Galleons was not the price of a toy. Mindful of this, he packed the telescope away again, instead drifting around Diagon Alley until it was time to meet Dumbledore at the Leaky Cauldron. Arriving first, Harry entered the pub's common room and looked around, feeling a little awkwardly and out of place. There was no need; as soon as the patrons inside recognised Harry Potter, they scrambled to welcome him and the barkeep quickly poured some butterbeer in a tall glass. They swarmed him with questions about the reason of his presence, what he thought of the Wizengamot then, and how was it to attend Hogwarts anyway? Harry answered as best he could, that he was there to take up his seat, the Wizengamot seemed impressive, he thought Hogwarts was brilliant. Then, even with his back turned, Harry knew that Dumbledore had entered the tavern. As it had when he entered himself, all conversation halted momentarily. However, where the patrons seemed more comfortable approaching a 15-year old, reverence seemed to simply radiate from Dumbledore's person and everybody gave him room and restricted themselves to respectful nods and greetings.

"I was thinking we would take an early evening meal here, Harry," Dumbledore said, walking up to him. "I am not sure we will get back to Hogwarts in time; going through the tunnel always seems to fiddle with how long the journey takes," the old wizard said with an enigmatic smile. Harry collected his drink and they sat down at a table, while the bartender conjured up food; not literally, since food could not be conjured out of thin air, but the speed was astonishing and the delicious meal would give any house elf a run for their money. A stew made of an assortment of meat and vegetables, Harry happily dug in while Dumbledore took his meal with a little more elegance.

"So, Harry, how did you find your first assembly of the Wizengamot?"

"I didn't think it would be so... underhanded. People making motions they don't support, engineering votes just to see how the political winds blow... it sort of seems a bit unsavoury."

"I fear politics of any place and any age have always been that way, giving a bad taste to the innocent onlooker," Dumbledore said.

"I don't understand though. How can so many oppose you, and support Malfoy? Don't we all know he was a Death Eater? Is one, probably."

"That's it, Harry, a lot don't know. Some suspect, but nobody knows. And Lucius Malfoy is exceedingly skilled in making the most of a bad situation, turning it to his own advantage. As for the opposition against me... there are only few in the Wizengamot truly aligned with Malfoy's agenda. Some just see it as a possibility to increase their own reach - maybe even aim for the staff of Chief Warlock. Others think I am old and have outlived my use; or worse, that I like to pretend a crisis is approaching to reinforce my own grasp on power."

"They don't seriously think you would lie though? That if you said you thought You-Know-Who was returning, you'd make it up to get people to support you?"

"It would not be unheard of in politics. I do not say I would stoop so low, only that some has in the past and it remains a valid argument... or a valid excuse for denouncing me, at least. And I have no proof that Voldemort has returned, or will return." Harry felt a slight tension at Dumbledore's easy, blatant use of the tabooed name.

"Is it because you don't fear him you say it? I've never heard anybody else do so, except the first time when I didn't even know what his name was."

"You could say that. I do not fear him, hence I do not fear using his self-styled name. Or perhaps it is the reverse; because I do not fear his name, I do not end up fearing the man behind it."

Harry needed a moment to process the chiasm that Dumbledore had just exposed him to. It was of particular importance to him since of all the people in Britain, Harry had the most reason to fear Voldemort; or, if following Dumbledore's example, stop fearing him.

When the meal was done, Dumbledore rose and walked to the counter.

"Oh, no charge, Mr. Dumbledore, not for a simple meal served to the likes of you and Mr. Potter," said the bartender.

"Even if you cannot make yourself charge for it, you still have to make a living, Tom," Dumbledore said and placed some Galleons on the counter. Remembering his drink given to him for free when he entered, Harry found a Galleon and placed it on the counter too with a slight twinge of guilt. It could be easy to abuse one's status as a hero, without even intending or realising it; Harry's esteem for Dumbledore increased yet a tad more. They left the Leaky Cauldron, followed by the well-wishes of its proprietor and patrons, and moved towards the passageway where they had first entered Diagon Alley. Harry never saw what Dumbledore did; just that when they walked under the archway, they were in the tunnel again. Once more Harry lost track of time as they walked, until the opening appeared and they were in Dumbledore's office.

"I enjoyed our trip, Harry, thank you for obliging me. We will talk again soon," said the headmaster. Harry made a polite farewell, collected his unused travel cloak and walked up to the Gryffindor common room. He had hoped the trip would take so long that he was excused from detention; but once up there, the clock on the wall announced he had arrived back at Hogwarts with an hour to spare. He debated for a moment if perhaps he could consider himself excused, considering the extra-ordinary trip out of the castle; but he knew Filch would not excuse him for any reason if he was actually present at the time of detention, and Harry did not want to give any reason for his detention to be prolonged. Do the time, get out, Harry thought, suddenly reminded of various prison movies he had seen.

This evening, after having visited Ragnuk's shop, Harry could not resist. He moved his left arm into the leather straps of a shield, while taking a sword in the other. He swung the blade, imagining another armour as his enemy; he blocked his enemy's sword with his shield and struck a deadly blow.

"You're supposed to polish the weapons, not wield them," came a voice, so unexpected it gave Harry a shock. Turning around, flushed with embarrassment, Harry's arms dropped down, making him look like a rather poor knight. At the end of the hallway stood Moody with a wry grin.

"I just... wanted to make a diversion from polishing," Harry said sheepishly.

"Well, I won't tell Filch if you won't. I just came down here to hear about your trip to London. How was the Wizengamot?"

Harry put down the weapons and began his polishing duty, just in case anybody else came around the corner.

"It was interesting, I suppose. I never really knew how politics worked, or how the country worked, with the Ministry and all. I just kind of assumed everything went as it was supposed to without much prodding." Moody nodded at this explanation and sitting down on the edge of a pedestal, upon which stood the armour of Sir Ogier le Danemarche.

"That's how most people think, how most people want to think. They don't like change, certainly not upheavals like removing dementors from Azkaban. If I thought it had stood any chance of passing, I'd have gone with you to vote. Dumbledore told me though that I didn't miss anything."

"You have a seat in the Wizengamot too?"

"Aye, when I retired as an auror, they gave me one of the spare ones in recognition of my services. Nice enough of them, though I've never really used it. In my experience, it's not in an assembly like that things get done."

"That's kind of sad to think about," Harry said thoughtfully. He had been brought up to believe that democracy was the superior form of government, and was not happy with having seen it in action. Though one could argue that magical Britain could become a lot more democratic; Harry knew Hermione would argue so, at least. As she came into his head, it stung a little, and he polished with more fervour.

"Did Dumbledore show you around? The Ministry, Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes," Harry said, a little unsure where this was going. "Well, he pointed out various things as we passed them, we only entered the Wizengamot."

"I see. Well, I'll leave you to your task. I'll see you in class, and on Wednesday. And Harry?" said Moody as he got up.

"Yes?"

"You missed a spot," Moody said and walked away barking his coarse laughter.


	13. Gifts

The classes passed slowly on Monday, and Harry was still performing below what he had set as his standard this year. Not because of Hermione's cold treatment of him, but because his thoughts were completely occupied with his new project; he was so absent-minded because of it that Hermione abandoned her policy of closed communication lines to scold him when he almost turned their Potion from an antidote into a poison. Harry apologised and Hermione seemed to soften for a moment; then she returned to ignoring him. Having learned to silence his stomach's demands for lunch, Harry worked with his Magical Theory textbook during that time. After class, when he returned to the Gryffindor common room, Fred subtly placed a small package in Harry's hands while George distracted the room with the tale of how he and his twin once almost died in the flaming wreckage of a flying car. Wasting no time, Harry moved to a secluded spot, an empty classroom, and went to work.

It took him nearly all day, and when he was finished he had to fill his quota of polished armour. This time there was no need to while the time away with games, all his mental energies bent towards his accomplishment and how it might even be improved later on, both his original attempt and future ones. What was important though, was that he had made it in time. The next day, Tuesday, was when he would implement the rest of his plan; indeed, that date was what had given him the idea. He went to bed, fell asleep, woke up and went to breakfast. Throughout the day he kept his distance to Hermione, as much as he was able to, until classes were done. He wavered all day on when exactly to speak to her; part of him wanted to do it right away, see matters resolved. But what if it went poorly? Harry decided to wait until evening. If things became awkward, he had detention to excuse himself and stay away from the Gryffindor tower for the rest of the evening. So, it was not until after dinner was done and most students had retired to their common rooms that Harry proceeded. He collected a small box from his dorm and went downstairs to find Hermione talking with Ginny, Parvati and other friends. Somehow that made it more difficult to approach her. Why, Harry told himself, she's still your friend even if we've had a falling out. Get on with it!

"Hermione, can I talk with you quick?" For a moment, she seemed to hesitate, before she shrugged, got up and followed him over to one of the great windows where they sat down on the window sill, undisturbed.

"Happy birthday, Hermione."

"I wasn't sure you remembered. But thanks, Harry." From his pocket, Harry took out the gift he had gotten from his room.

"I know some of the girls are going to give you a celebration tonight. Since I can't be there, I thought I should give you your gift now." He placed it in Hermione's hands, who sent him a quick look before she unwrapped it. Inside was a small box of dark wood, which she opened.

"Oh, it's really pretty! Thank you," Hermione said, giving him a tentative smile. She picked up the thin golden chain to inspect the pendant, made in the shape of a lion.

"It's not just a necklace," Harry hurried to say. "It took me a while, but I managed to inscribe a spell on it. The protego-spell. As long as the pendant is in contact with your skin, you can activate it merely by saying the incantation. No wand or movements necessary; lets you activate it in an instant."

"Harry, that's amazing! I had no idea you could do that!" The tentative look disappeared, replaced by genuine admiration.

"Well, it's probably not as strong as one properly cast with a wand. And it will wear out, the spell will have to be replenished at one point. But it was the only thing I could think of doing for your birthday that seemed special; would stand out, I guess. If it can help keep you safe, even better. You gave me my best birthday ever in the summer, I wanted... to thank you, maybe. Apologise, too. I don't want you to be angry with me anymore."

"Oh, Harry!" She flung herself forward to hug him, as tightly as she had done on the stairs of Privet Drive 4 when they had not seen each other for more than a month. "I'm sorry too, I didn't intend to be cruel," she said before she withdrew again.

"I wasn't really that angry, just upset at first. And the duel, it was like you again didn't know what you were doing. Even how much we practise, none of us have duelled Malfoy and I bet the family he grew up with is the kind that teaches their children how to duel dirty from a young age. I'm sorry I was cold to you, Harry, I just felt you did me wrong. It's like you sometimes don't really know how you affect people around you, or how you make them feel." She might have a point there, Harry thought, I certainly didn't expect Ginny to like me. Right now he didn't care though, he was just happy that things could return to normal.

"I have to go, detention; if you didn't teach me then that has certainly made me be more mindful of what I'm doing to others," Harry grinned, feeling such relief. Hermione laughed too, and there was an overwhelming sense that things had been restored, returned to their proper state.

"Wait, before you go!" Hermione placed the necklace in Harry's hands and swept her hair away from her neck, turning to the side. Harry willingly obliged, placing the locket around her and locking it in place, smiling as Hermione turned back to him and he saw the lion fall in place.

"Thank you again, Harry," she said, leaning forward to give him a quite peck on the cheek before she returned to her friends, eager to show off her present. Harry's gaze lingered on her as she walked away. Then he went to his latest place of incarceration, the third hallway so far on his tour of shining up armours. Filch had never seen a student arrive to detention looking so happy and shook his head as he walked away after having giving Harry his instructions. And when Harry came back to the common room, Hermione was waiting for him with a piece of cake, and to say thanks one more time.

The next day, things were as they should be and Harry could once more focus on classes, aided further by Hermione actually helping him. Harry was so relieved at the return of a normal state of affairs that he even took lunch for once to spend more time with her and Ron in a normal atmosphere. Later, after a Magical Theory class, he could report to the Ravenclaw twins that he had managed to enchant the necklace as they had discussed.

"How did she like your gesture? Everything patched up between you and the girlfriend?" asked Gideon.

"She's just a friend," Harry protested. "But yes, everything's good again."

"Just a friend? That must be a Gryffindor thing. Tell me, have you ever given fancy jewellery to a girl who was just a friend, oh brother mine?"

"Not even once," said Fabian with severity.

"Well maybe that's a Ravenclaw thing, to only give gifts with ulterior motive. Or were you two misplaced when sorted and should have gone to Slytherin?" Harry retorted.

"Oi now, keep it clean, keep it clean," Gideon said as they all three erupted with laughter.

"We'll see how it works on Friday at the club," Fabian said and the brothers waved as they left Harry.

Wednesday evening, another Occlumency lesson. The mental exercises had helped, but Harry was still nowhere near being able to stop Moody.

"Focus, Harry," growled the old auror.

"I'm trying," Harry said with gritted teeth.

"Don't talk," Moody barked. Biting down even more, Harry concentrated. White wall, white wall, white wall, nothing but a white wall, completely blank, white wall, the locket around Hermione's neck, damn it! white wall, white wall, nothing on it, blank wall, empty wall, white wall, Ginny at the Three Broomsticks, bloody hell! white wall, white wall. Then Harry felt the invasion disappear as Moody leaned away.

"That book I gave you should come with a warning - don't try and teach this to teenage boys," Moody muttered.

"Sorry," said Harry quietly.

"Ah, no matter, it's hard. Few aurors can do this when they first left Hogwarts, most have to learn it once they begin training at the Ministry. And even then, only a handful are actually good at it. We're placing too big a burden on you, Harry, you're too young, like I told Dumbledore."

"It's not a burden, you're just making sure I'm prepared in case you-kn... in case Voldemort comes after me." This time, Harry said it without an expression running over his face. "Plus, you said yourself that judging me by my age would be underestimating me."

"Quite, quite, I said that. Well, we'll keep at it then."

When their time was almost up, Moody leaned back in his seat and focused both eyes on Harry. It always unnerved him a little when the normally ever-moving eye suddenly fixed itself on him.

"So, Harry, how long have you been practising duels?"

"Well, since we started in defence class." At this, Moody roared his laughter.

"Don't think you can fool me, boy! You knew spells against Malfoy I didn't teach you. And although I've seen you use protego in class a few times, you threw it again and again with perfection when you duelled. And with precise timing, whenever your shield was just about to burst, and just when Malfoy had begun his next spell." This was higher praise than Harry had ever gotten from Moody, and the fact that it seemed merely like the auror was stating facts made him glow. Except for the fact that Moody was on to their illegal duelling club, which made Harry move nervously around in his seat. That blasted eye! Still fixated on him.

"I may have met on occasion with some friends to practise," Harry eventually said. "But all in good fun, really just the same as what we do in class! I don't see why it should be against the rules."

"No teacher supervising, I would say. But don't worry, you don't have to pretend with me. I know exactly why you're practising, and I commend you for it. In fact I feel like I should have come up with the idea myself. Well, it made me think." And from his drawers, Moody pulled out something. It was made of black leather, like a bracer to be strapped onto one's wrist and arm. Apart from where it lashed onto your arm, it had tiny leather rings beneath it. Moody put it on and demonstrated how his wand fitted into the rings and could thus be worn along his arm.

"It has a spring at the bottom, activated like this," Moody said and moved his ring finger back across the palm of his hand to its base, touching where the leather reached. His wand sprung forth into his hand, caught between his thumb and index finger.

"It's called a duellist' bracer," Moody explained. "Went out of style when duels did, but some aurors like me use it still. You can't run around with your wand in hand every moment, but sticking it in your belt means it takes time to draw. This way, you have your wand in your hand instantly. You can buy them in Hogsmeade, I think, I suspect every member of your duelling club will want one when you show them this. Since you can't go to Hogsmeade and pick one out you like, I thought I'd give you this one." And with that, Moody unstrapped the bracer and placed it around Harry's arm. Harry's spare hand went over the black leather, tracing the carvings that formed patterns and animal motifs.

"There, I thought it would fit. I have others, I like to keep spare, and you must make sure the spring keeps working. There's no magic involved, never know when that might be useful. And this one has served me well, I tell you Harry," Moody said as Harry placed his wand into the bracer and tested how it sprung into his hand.

"It was with me when I fought... was it then? Yes, Evan Rosier. Nasty, nasty fellow him. Knew so many curses, tried just about all of them on me when we fought. Where I lost this," Moody said, pointing to his nose that was missing a fair chunk of it. "Ah, but you don't want to sit listening to an old man talking war stories."

"I rather do want to," Harry said eagerly. However much they trained at the duelling club, Harry knew it was nothing like the real thing. And Moody had possibly fought more duels than any other wizard alive, not to mention he had always emerged the victor.

"Still, it is hardly what I should encourage. You should only fight dark wizards because you must, not because I make it seem like a good idea. Dumbledore will need to speak with you soon, I think. Ah, never mind, now I begin to ramble, thinking about old days. Our time is up, don't forget your gift."

Friday evening Moody's prediction came true. The duellist's bracer was indeed a hit with the members of the club. There was a unanimous decision to look for these when next Hogsmeade weekend arrived, though some cautioned it might look weird if all of a sudden nine students bought a bracer when the shop had not sold any in years.

"We might be done for anyway," Harry said a little gloomily. "Moody guessed the truth after he saw me duel Malfoy, that we had some kind of practice club going. Not sure what he will do with the information, though." The mood instantly dropped a bit, since everybody knew they would miss these semi-weekly gatherings.

"Well, if this is the last meeting, I have to show off my birthday present," Hermione said. Harry helped her demonstrate; he threw a stunner as quickly as he could, but before his wand finished moving, Hermione yelled Protego and the red ray of light was absorbed. Applause and cheers went up, with people swarming around Hermione to know more. The Ravenclaw brothers winked at Harry and then proceeded to explain how it worked, having helped Harry figure out how to enchant the locket. Sitting on a table at the end of the room, Harry watched the rest of the club examining his gift to Hermione, and he felt a sense of happiness, of life being the way it should be. Ginny separated herself from the group and walked over to sit on the table next to him.

"You gave Hermione a necklace," she said, like a statement of fact. "Must have been difficult to enchant it."

"Took some effort," Harry said, not certain where the conversation was headed. "I think I could make one for you too."

"I don't think that will be necessary, thanks," Ginny said, and she got up again and moved over to the group. Harry had the feeling that this had been an iceberg-conversation; only ten percent had been said, ninety percent of the meaning was hidden under the surface. And glaciology was not Harry's field.


	14. Astrology

The evening's detention proved to be a surprise. When Harry got down to Filch's office, the surly caretaker told him to report to Hagrid. Harry remembered his request of the groundskeeper to teach him some survival skills. Far better way to spend detention! So Harry hurried out of the castle and down to Hagrid's cabin, where he greeted the big man happily.

"Time for a trip to the woods," Hagrid grinned, with a huge crossbow slung across his back that Harry eyed both with interest and some hesitation. He had his wand, of course, and he had to get used to the idea of walking into dangerous areas.

"So what's our purpose? I mean, other than giving me an idea of how life in the woods are," asked Harry.

"Going to look for some plants professor Sprout asked me to get her some specimens of. Wants to grow her own kind in her greenhouses. And we'll just make a tour of the place, see if anything's odd, anything warrants our attention." Giving Harry a small bag, and grabbing a big one himself, Hagrid moved towards the forest with Harry hurrying to make double steps to keep pace.

Not just the Forbidden Forest, but forests in general were unknown to Harry. The Dursleys were not the camping types, and had never taken Harry along for any trip into the countryside. There was nothing close enough to Privet Drive to be called nature that Harry could have been to, and the only forest near Hogwarts was, well, forbidden. It was barely autumn so the sun lingered on the horizon for a while yet, growing and glowing red. The green colours likewise held on as best it could, but the colours of red and gold had slowly begun to invade. At first the forest seemed quiet, but soon Harry learned to be attentive. Animals scattered here and there, rustling through the undergrowth. Birds began to sing their evening tunes, and Harry noticed that despite his size, Hagrid moved quietly, without disturbing anything. He was definitely in his right element.

"Keep eyes out for a plant with purple flowers. The petals resemble a crown, and the stem is lightly blue," Hagrid said. "And grab me if you find mushrooms! Haven't had any good ones in a long while," he added wistfully. Harry did not reply, merely trod in Hagrid's ample footprints. He was far too busy absorbing the impressions of the forest; the very smell of wood and flora growing everywhere unhindered by man. Here and there he saw flowers, but not neatly arranged as in a shop or to decorate a room. They grew wild, surrounded by many other plants and with no purpose to delight the eye of the beholder. Harry knew of course how frail they were, he could reach out his hand and rip them from the earth they needed to grow in; but he almost admired how they seemed to be their own master. Flowers simply being flowers, not ornaments.

After a while, they reached a small clearing. A number of stones were laid in a circle in the centre, with pieces of charred wood inside. A few fallen trees served as seats when Hagrid and Harry sat down, the great crossbow and bags placed to rest next to them. An obvious camp site, Hagrid pulled out a flask from his bag. He took a swipe and offered it to Harry. It contained some kind of fruit juice, with a strong taste mixed into it. From behind him, Hagrid pulled out several logs that had been stashed there in advance. Getting up again, he built a small pyramid by propping the logs against each other, showing Harry the structure. Hagrid then stuffed some pieces of newspaper (The Daily Prophet) in through the holes of the pyramid and lit a match. After a little while, a fire was busily burning.

"And that's how you build a fire, Harry. We'll look for the plant tomorrow, it was too dark this evening to spot it anyway. I just wanted to bring ye out here with me tonight. I know the forest can be dangerous to people, but it's still a nice place to be, spend a night. When the sun is down, the stars are up, well, ye know there's more than one kind o' magic in the world," Hagrid said, looking up as the stars had begun to appear. Harry followed his gaze, identifying as many constellations as he could. Hagrid then found two long wooden poles and told Harry to pick his dinner from his own bag. An assortment of meat and vegetables were found in long squares, and Harry squashed them onto his pole before extending it over the fire, following Hagrid's example. And then they sat in silence, listening to the fire crackling as their food was cooked, looking at the night sky above.

"How's yer bacon," asked Hagrid.

"Crisp."

"Good." And then there was silence for a while longer.

"Hagrid?"

"Yeh?"

"This is nice."

"I'm glad ye think so."

They were still munching on the last part of their meal when Harry heard the sound of something moving in the distance. An animal of some kind, running through the forest. The sound quickly grew louder and Harry realised it was moving directly towards them.

"Don't worry, Harry," Hagrid said unmoved, taking care of his last bite of tomato. Harry still turned his head towards the sound though, and soon saw white fur moving among the foliage. Then it passed through the trees and Harry's heart jumped in him as he saw what it was: two great, majestic centaurs with bows in their hands galloping towards the clearing. Only at what seemed like the last second did they come to an abrupt halt.

"We accept you in our forest, Hagrid Groundskeeper, because we do not seek strife with Hogwarts. But we do not look kindly on you taking others with you!" the first centaur said, the other one staying a few paces behind. Not only was the equine part of him white, but also the thick curly hair that crowned his head and lay as a thick beard around him. Age was inscribed upon his face, with deep lines, but his naked torso and arms showed the muscles of a man in his prime. A leather quiver was on his back, filled with arrows, and the bow in his hands was made with elegant carvings. The other centaur looked slightly younger, his hair blond rather than grey. He was likewise muscular, and also with a quiver on his back and an ornamented bow in his hands.

"He's hardly more than a boy, and we ain't causing trouble. We'll be gone tomorrow, so where's the harm?"

"With your parentage are you so blind to the oppression of the wizards? We centaurs once roamed freely, but now we can hardly leave these woods. If we allow the wizards to settle here as well, what will we have left? No, Hagrid, I will not be known as the Keeper of my flock who saw more than three thousand years of history forgotten, scattered, our people no more." Despite the jib at his giant mother, Hagrid was still unmoved. He removed a bit of pork from between his teeth and looked at the centaur.

"Come now, Magorian, that sounds more like Bane talking than you. The wizards aren't interested in yer forest, Hogwarts been here a thousand years and none have tried to expel you. Can't yer share yer forest with us now and then? It's a nice forest, and I thought Harry should see that."

"We do not make rash moves, and I will not break any truce between us for the sake of a boy you brought here. Just know we are vigilant of any entrance to our domain, and will not abide any trespassing of it by wizards, who has no business here. Firenze, let us return to our flock."

"With your allowance, noble Keeper, I will stay by the fire for a moment. I think perhaps I have a splinter in my leg," Firenze said, and to Harry's utter surprise gave the boy a wink which Magorian did not see.

"If you must," said Magorian curtly and galloped away.

"Forgive our Keeper, it is his duty to remember our history, and our history is an endless tale of tragedy. Hence he ever fears the continuation of history. I, on the other hand, greet you, Hagrid, and you, friend of Hagrid."

"I know he means nothing by it," Hagrid said serenely. "He's got to make a posture, make his stand known. Mind you, it's true enough, no wizards are remotely interested in the Forbidden Forest."

"Indeed not," Firenze laughed, "and why would they. It is of no value to anybody, except us to whom it is everything. You will forgive me, Harry Potter, if I am forward. Hagrid told me that he would bring you with him into this forest, and from what I have seen in the stars I was curious to meet you."

"You read the stars? I've taken Astronomy, and in Divination we've had astrology, but I can't say that told me much about the future."

"Humans have never had much luck with the stars. In the old days, even wizards knew to consult a centaur if they wanted any kind of foresight."

"So once wizards and centaurs mingled?"

"Once," Firenze nodded. "We have been in this land since before the Romans came. It was them who began to hunt us, fearing us. We became lost to humans, we scattered and retreated to a few refuges, like this forest."

"And now you won't let us visit you, then we'll never come to know you again," Harry argued. Firenze laughed hoarsely.

"This one is a sophist! And would you know the centaurs? Would their history and people interest you?"

"Very much," Harry said. "Please, tell me anything you want."

"That could take a lifetime. I will restrict myself to what is most important. As said, we centaurs watch the skies. It is our duty to remember the past, witness the present and foresee the future. Our Keeper, whom you have met, knows the song of our people that speaks of every great event foretold in the stars, beheld by the centaurs and now committed to memory. Now and then the planets move to announce changes in the world; we saw it many decades ago, and we see it now." Harry had to lean his head back to look into Firenze's eyes, but he was completely absorbed. The centaur's eyes spoke of incredible knowledge.

"What do you see now?"

"Ah, a wizard has come to seek the astrology of the centaurs again. Very well, I shall tell you what I have seen. The Herald of War ascends high into the heavens; there is no mistake, terrible battles are ahead. But one could know that without watching the stars," said Firenze. Harry surmised he spoke of Mars, and why the centaur would not use the Roman name for the planet.

"But then, the Herald draws near the Bringer of Victory. It will not merely be a battle then, but a decisive one. When the two come closest in the sky, this coming war will be decided with one fell stroke. In whose favour? The celestial companions will not say. The herald might continue in his ascendancy, though it does not seem plausible. The Lady of Peace may take his place, but that too is impossible to see. Far behind lurks the Shaker of the Earth. Rarely does he come close to us, or the Herald. But should he after that fateful hour, then the earth will indeed quake and this land will tremble." Firenze's voice had grown deeper, and Harry thought he saw what the centaur spoke of, conjured before his inner vision.

"That's enough lessons for tonight, methinks," said Hagrid suddenly. His calm voice shattered Harry's visions and he exhaled, relaxing a bit.

"For tonight," said Firenze. "Maybe we shall meet again, Harry Potter. Until then, may your sight be clear and your arrow fly true," said the centaur. Harry returned the farewell, sensing its ritualistic importance, and the centaur galloped away like Magorian had.

"Not a bad night, eh? You get what sleep you can. In some hours, I'll wake ye, and you keep watch until dawn. That's something else you might need; always keep a watch if you aren't sure of the place you're in."

Sleeping in the forest when one was used to beds was not very pleasant, and the few hours Harry got did not seem to help either. Nonetheless, when he said goodbye to Hagrid, he asked the groundskeeper to take him out another time, which Hagrid smilingly promised. When Harry returned to the common room, he was greeted by his friends.

"Where have you been? Ron said you didn't sleep in your bed last night," Hermione asked.

"I was in the forest with Hagrid," Harry said and yawned.

"The Forbidden Forest? No way," Ron said enviously. "What was it like?"

"Not sure you'd like it, saw spiders," Harry said, yawning again. "Did meet two centaurs though; one wasn't very pleasant, but the other was very interesting. Told me about astrology and the planets; real stuff, not like the hogwash Trelawney serves to us. Wish he was our teacher instead of her."

"You met centaurs? They say that if you step into the Forbidden Forest and a centaur spots you, you're full of arrows before you can say horse," said Ron.

"Well if you are about to call them some horse slur you deserve to be made into a pin cushion," Hermione bit him off. "It sounds so interesting, Harry! Not really the kind of detention I thought you'd get."

"That was detention? Last time I got it, I had to make every trophy shine in the trophy room. And if you forgot, Hogwarts got about a thousand year's worth of them!"

"We can go ask Hagrid, maybe he'll take all three of us next time," said Harry. "Now if you don't mind," yawn, "I need to sleep if I want to survive tonight's detention. Don't worry Ron, I'll be back to polishing armours. You can come down and check if you don't believe me, keep me company." Despite the invitation though, Harry spent his next detention alone.


	15. First Night, First Round

The next days brought no surprises until it was Wednesday evening. Occlumency was slowly coming along, but still, against somebody as skilled as Moody, Harry was no match. After an exhausting hour that left Harry mentally drained, Moody relaxed in his seat and pulled something out of a drawer. It was Harry's amulet from Egypt.

"Took me a while, but I figured out what it is," Moody said, laughing a little. "No wonder your sneakoscope was going crazy whenever you had it close. It wasn't broken, it was just working too well."

"Is that thing harmful?" Harry said, eyeing it suspiciously. He had stretched out his hand to take it back, but now halted.

"No, not at all. It is like a kind of primitive, antique Egyptian sneakoscope. Old Egyptians used to wear it and it would glow hot when danger approached the wearer. People with drawn weapons, for instance. It's not quite as advanced as a sneakoscope, the old Egyptians didn't quite have the imagination to anticipate the kind of dangers a wizard today might face. But it's why your own sneakoscope went berserk around it; the protective spells on each are so similar, the sneakoscope got confused and was activated by it. Just like its early versions, before they improved it, if you had two of them in the same room they kept each other running. It's a neat design, though, on this amulet here. The magic is dormant except for when danger threatens, which is why whomever sold it probably thought it wasn't magical to begin with. It took me a lot of prying to figure it out. In fact only when professor Flitwick approached me while cutting an apple did the damn thing do anything," Moody laughed.

"Thanks, professor, that is great to know. I think I understand how it works," Harry said, remembering the one night he had woken up because of a burning sensation on his chest; the night where Pettigrew had been in his room.

"How long left of your detention, Harry?"

"My month should be up sometime this week," Harry replied. "Think I'll manage to finish the armours in time too."

"Alright, good to know. Got something planned; want to make sure you're there for it," Moody said with a sinister smile.

Moody's plan was revealed Sunday evening, at a dinner announcement made by Dumbledore.

"Professor Moody has requested that the duelling club on Hogwarts be reinstated under his care. I have accepted the request. The club will be open to fourth year students and above. Should this prove popular, entry will depend on the student's performance in professor Moody's defence classes. Mr. Filch has put up a list at the notice board where you can sign up. That is all." These news immediately sparked conversations everywhere in the Great Hall.

"We're in, aren't we?" said Ron. "This is what we've been doing for about two months now, only we can do it in front of the whole school."

Hermione and Ginny agreed, while Harry remained silent for a moment. He preferred their current club, secret and exclusive. But he had already tipped his hand when he duelled Malfoy, and shown that he was actively practising. Might as well gain what could be gained from joining Moody's venture.

"Let's still keep our own club going, though," Harry interjected. "There's still much we can learn from being a small number."

"That's a good idea," said Hermione. "I look forward to this though. We know each other's favourite spells and tricks pretty well by now in our own club; it'll be interesting to get completely new opponents." And that Harry had to agree with.

The official duellist club was set to convene on Thursdays, and on the following Tuesday evening a new list was put up, which showed everybody who had been accepted. Not surprisingly all ten members of the unofficial duellist club were in, since their extra-curricular activities had improved their performance in the defence class. There was a general mix of students from all houses, though the sixth- and seventh-year students were more heavily represented. There was only a handful of fifth-year students, and Ginny was among the few fourth-year students allowed in, which made her smile the rest of the evening. The night before the first meeting, Harry was at Moody's office like every Wednesday. He could not wait until after their lesson with broaching the subject.

"So that's what you planned!" Harry said accusingly, though in a friendly tone of voice nonetheless. After further thought, he had been completely reconciled to the thought of an open duellist club. And after having beaten Malfoy, Harry was eager to do so again. Malfoy had also been accepted into the club; he had, after all, been trained to fight other wizards ever since he had gotten his wand. He had bragged about this on more than one occasion, making Harry grumble about the under-age magic law being selective in who it targeted; the duel in the Great Hall had finally allowed Harry to return fire. Naturally, Malfoy had been itching for a rematch ever since, and Harry was only too happy to oblige.

"I thought it would do you good to get to fight some new blood. And there are others who could use the experience of finding hostile magic thrown at them. It can be a shock the first many times, but nothing to do but repeat the experience until the shock wears off. Better it were to be done here in Hogwarts."

Occlumency was coming along slightly better. Harry had become used to the uncomfortable feeling of an invasion into your mind, and no longer struggled in the same way. Moody had explained there were two ways to fight such a mental assault. Either make it a struggle of will and skill to expel the invader, or retreat and avoid giving them anything. The latter option, if done well enough, could even be used to fool the attacker into thinking their target was really blank, or control which thoughts and memories to give them access.

"They won't expect you to have Occlumency training, so if anybody tries something on you, go with that. Let them underestimate you in that sense too. Let them pry and think they are in control. There is no defence as strong as that," Moody said. And so they trained, Harry emptying his thoughts and avoiding giving Moody anything.

The following day the first meeting of the duellist club was convened and Moody briefly explained how it worked. There was a hierarchy of sorts. Five tiers you could be in. Those with fewest points would be ranked fifth, whereas the duellist champion would be the only one ranked first. Anybody could challenge somebody of their own or higher level. Winning a duel, regardless of your opponent, yielded points. The higher ranked your opponent, however, the more points yielded. Up to thirty students had been accepted into the club.

The lowest tier, the fifth rank, would be occupied by those ten students with lowest points, who ranked 21st to 30th. The fourth tier was for the next ten students, from position 11th to 20th. The third tier was for the five students who ranked 6th to 10th. The second tier was for the four students who ranked 2nd to 5th. And the top tier was for the single person with most duelling points, who would be named champion at the end of the year.

To ensure nobody was beaten purely out of exhaustion, a duellist could only be challenged three times in a night. And since it was the first night, the ladders had not yet been filled. So uniquely for this first night, rather than making challenges themselves, each person would be assigned duels to fight. Each win this first evening was worth one point, since everybody was formally rated equally. And then people would be assigned to tiers and at the next meeting the challenges could begin. As when Harry had duelled Malfoy, the tables and chairs had been placed against the walls, acting as tribunes for spectators and creating an open space in the middle of the hall. On the plateau, the table had been likewise removed, but the chairs remained.

Moody had his usual place, with a good view of the duel space. Several other professors were there as well: Flitwick, who had a reputation for being a strong dueller himself (impossible to hit a target that small, was Moody's explanation with a tone of voice that sounded like he wished he was that diminutive); McGonagall, who wore something close to a frown, perhaps disagreeing with the idea of students duelling in the Great Hall; and Snape, for whatever unknown reasons, certainly not out of an interest in the students. With the workings of the club explained, and a repetition of the rules of no lethal or serious harm being allowed, Moody sat down in his seat again and called out the first two duellists.

"Fabian Prewett against Gideon Prewett!" The Ravenclaw twins looked at each other with a grin, and then immediately discarded all expressions except for concentration. They bowed, Moody made a spark with his wand and the duel was on. The opponents were well picked, for they were as evenly matched as could be. Every spell one knew, the other knew as well. Every trick or move one of them had thought of, he had discussed with the other. Both renewed their Protego as soon as it was necessary, both switched between aiming spells to break the sphere and spells it would not protect against. Minutes passed as neither could gain an advantage, and both duellists were sweating.

Finally, Gideon changed pattern. He moved a chair behind his brother, and then unleashed a barrage of spells. Neither were intended to hit, but merely force Fabian on the defensive. As he stepped backwards, reinforcing his shield and avoiding spells, he tripped over the chair. Roars of laughter rose in the air at this rather ignoble end to the duel, and as soon as he had disarmed Fabian of his wand, Gideon moved over to help him on his feet, both of them laughing as well.

"Good move, brother!"

"It was my last effort," Gideon admitted. "I wore myself out with that last battering of spells - either I won now or you would win afterwards."

"Good job, Gideon," yelled Ron from his seat, raising his wand in a kind of mock salute.

"Thanks, cousin, we'll see how you fare soon!" Gideon yelled back.

"Are you related?" burst the question from Harry. Neither Weasleys nor Prewetts had mentioned that before.

"My mum was born Prewett," Ron explained. "We're not exactly first cousins though, it's once removed. Or twice? I could never really remember. If you're born into the old wizard families though, you're always related some way. I bet if we looked long enough, we'd find a Potter who married a Weasley in some forgotten century."

"Shush, new duel going on!" said Hermione, silencing the discussion on family genealogy.

"Fred Weasley against George Weasley!" Moody called out. Again a pair of grinning twins took the centre stage, though these two did not stop laughing.

"Going through all the twins first," Harry said.

"Makes sense though, they'll also be evenly matched. Hah, it's going to be fun to see Fred and George against each other for once," Ron grinned, and a few others nearby also laughed at this comment. Usually the Weasley twins were united in constant mischief against anybody who came close, and nearly everybody had at some point been a victim of their pranks. Regardless of who won this duel, there would be satisfaction at seeing the loser taking a hit. The two brothers bowed, each trying to be more pompous and exaggerating than the other. The signal came and the duellists went at it with full strength.

Like the Ravenclaw twins, they had trained diligently in Harry's unofficial club and both were not only armed with plenty of curses and hexes, but also accustomed to using them in a fight. With astonishing expediency spells were launched on both sides, while neither bothered with Protego or similar defensive spells. Soon, Harry figured out why as he listened to the spells being used. They were all of the kind that would not be absorbed by most defences, since they were considered minor jinxes. Hexes that give itches, made your ears flap or made you stink like a tomcat marking its territory. No wonder they threw them so expertly, they had been using spells like these ever since they first got a hand on their wands.

Although both twins were moving around like crazy, dodging spells everywhere, occasionally one hit. Fred had been forced to adapt his evasive manoeuvres into the shape of the tarantula dance, since his legs would not stop performing that particular jig. George's fingernails were growing alarmingly, making it hard for him to still retain a grip on his wand. Harry recognised that particular spell as one he had been victim of as well, and watched George's troubles with satisfaction.

It seemed like another duel that might go on without end; although each opponent took hits, none were serious enough to finish the fight. But suddenly, both brothers seemed to halt for a moment and each yelled Expelliarmus. Both wands flew far away, leaving each wizard disarmed.

"I think that's a draw, unless we're allowed to go at it with fists," yelled the still-dancing Fred.

"Very well, very well, a draw," shouted Moody, allowing a Finite Incantatem to end the effects on both brothers, who grinned and retrieved their wands.

"I don't think anybody expected a draw," Harry said.

"They arranged it beforehand," Ron said confidently. "I should have remembered that. They've done the same when we were kids, if we played games where they were on opposite sides. It doesn't matter the game or the team, Fred and George are always on the same side." Now that Ron mentioned it, there seemed to be a knowing look in the laughs that the twins gave each other. Yet another trick, Harry thought, as Cedric Diggory went up against another seventh-year from Hufflepuff that Harry did not know.

"We're all matched this first time based on Moody's impression of us," Hermione figured out. "That's why both pair of twins went against each other, because they would be most evenly matched. We will probably get to fight each other, or other fifth-years. Cedric is going to stomp his opponent, though." Harry nodded at this, observing Cedric at work. He was a careful type, who used both Protego as well as Obscuro to create a thin fog that made it harder for both to aim right, and after that he threw down a ward to warn him of any movement behind his back; he had seen how Fabian Prewett had gone down.

All the while he was doing this, his opponent had been busy slinging curses at him. Cedric avoided them deftly, until his defences had been made. Then he bombarded his hapless adversary with curses, none of them particularly strong, but all of them of the variety that could be cast extremely fast. Harry did not know the other student, but almost felt sorry for him as he waved his wand frantically to counter Cedric's spells. Soon Harry figured out Cedric's strategy; first the fog to make it harder to aim a precise hit, and then simply carpet-bomb the area in which the opponent was. It worked too, exhausting his opponent as much from the hits as from the effort to avoid them. Then, sensing the time was right to make his final move, Cedric dispelled the Obscuro-spell and sent a stunner straight into the other duellist's chest.

Harry applauded along with the rest of the Great Hall as Cedric revived his opponent himself as a courtesy. It paid to pay attention to Cedric's tactics, Harry thought, how he tailored his different spells to work more effectively when combined. And I will have to challenge him at some point to test myself, Harry pondered, knowing that Cedric would definitely be ranked as highly as himself, and thus someone eligible for Harry to challenge.

"He's very good, isn't he," Hermione said. "Not just with spell casting, but he plans ahead; thinks how to win the duel."

"Very defensive though," Ron argued. "Took him a while to get started." The discussion ended as a new duel was declared. Moody worked his way through the seventh-years and then the sixth-year students, before Harry began to feel his nerves slowly affecting him. It was time for the fifth-year students to have their first duel, including him.

"Hermione Granger against Neville Longbottom." This time, the odds were more in Hermione's favour. Not because Neville was still a bit of a doubtful spell caster, though. Practising in Harry's club, Neville had probably improved more than anybody. He surprised most of the audience, except the other unofficial club members and Moody, by performing his defensive spells correctly and swiftly, and he traded several curses with Hermione. Both duelled in the usual straight forward manner, exchanging offensive spells while keeping up the defensive ones, until the less able wizard or witch made a mistake. And in this case, the less able wizard was Neville, who after a minute succumbed to Hermione's disarming spell.

Harry watched intently, at first a bit surprised by Hermione's standard strategy. She had done nothing out of the ordinary, but simply duelled like anybody would have - even though she just minutes ago commented on Cedric's innovative tactics. Knowing that Hermione was not a fool, Harry pondered until he guessed it. She had measured up her opponent, Neville, and decided that she could beat him in a straight duel without using any particular tactics; those she would save for a tougher fight, where she could not be certain of victory in the same way. Harry knew this was conjecture, but he also knew Hermione would be clever enough to do that; he had seen her do likewise the one time she beat Ron at chess, first winning a straight-forward game against Harry and then using a particularly crafty move on Ron. Impressed, Harry applauded the loudest and decided to do likewise.

Harry did not have to wait long for his turn.

"Harry Potter against Ronald Weasley," Moody called out. Ron and Harry exchanged surprised glances, then both shrugged.

"Mind you, I bet he wants us to face each other because he knows we're mates," Ron said as they walked out onto the open area.

"Think you're right, it would amuse Moody to test us, see how we go against our friends. And he probably knows we won't likely challenge each other once everybody is sorted into ranks," Harry replied.

"Well, let's give the old geezer a show to make him drop his wand, eh?" Ron grinned, and Harry agreed. Wands out, they bowed and looked at each other. The crackling spark from Moody's wand flew up, and the duel began. Both had fought each other several times during their own club hours, and both knew what to expect. The mandatory defensive spells went up even as both immediately moved away from their starting position, using the tables scattered by previous duels for cover. Both seemed to catch their breath, renewing defences and preparing themselves for the next round.

"How about we go at this like men, Harry?" yelled Ron.

"Fine by me," Harry yelled back and both leapt to their feet, facing each other and slinging spells like madmen. Stunner after stunner was flung across the hall, and the air seemed electrified with magic. Soon, both their Protego-spells were dissolved and neither cared to renew it as they were both on a full offensive. They either evaded or flicked their own wands at the incoming jets of light, countering them. Finally, Harry sent several against Ron's chest and a single against his legs; it hit on the ankle, while he was occupied repelling the rest. Ron went stiff like a corpse, falling down on the ground before Moody revived him; Harry was too exhausted to throw a single spell it was not vital that he did.

When Ron came to, he was likewise weak in the knees and not because he had just been stunned. Harry walked over to him and Ron put his arm across his shoulders, before they practically limped off to sit down on one of the tables-turned-tribune. Again applauses were loud, but there were also plenty of whispers. This had been a display of brute strength and magical potency; although a stun-spell could be cast very quickly, it was among the more draining spells to cast, requiring a lot of focus or the spell failed. The other duels had had more semblance of elegance to them, but this had been more like a bare-knuckle boxing match, and it was not hard to substitute the stunning spells for more deadly ones, and imagine that the duel had been an actual fight to the death. Harry glanced at Moody, whose expression did not betray his thoughts.

"Seriously, you two, you can barely stand! And you got two more duels to go," Hermione scolded them.

"You know you've done something right when Hermione thinks you did something stupid," Ron laughed, and Harry managed to cough some kind of laughter too.

"Drink this, you nitwits," Hermione said exasperated, giving a potion to Harry. "You'll have to share, I'm not giving you any more." Harry drank half the liquid and passed on the flask to Ron, feeling a pleasant sensation replace how exhausted he felt.

"That's really good, Hermione," Harry said, feeling infinitely better compared to moments before. Ron, who had been a little sceptical as he accepted the potion, quickly drank his half and then nodded.

"It's a restoration potion," Hermione explained. "Helps with fatigue and such, people who have exhausted themselves by doing too much magic. Doesn't help the same way a good night's sleep though, in fact drinking it can mask the symptoms of exhaustion if one continues casting spells. There have been cases of people dying," she rattled off her explanation.

"Dying?" said Ron, eyes widening. "That's something you tell people _before_ they drink the damn thing!"

"Calm down, half a potion won't do that much. As soon as you begin your next duel, you'll feel tired from the next spell - as you rightly deserve for being so hot-headed!" At this point, Harry had leaned forward to let them exchange their argument behind his back, literally. On the floor, the Slytherin Zabini stunned Seamus and won his duel handily. When Ginny won her first duel against a Ravenclaw fourth-year, the first round of duels were done.


	16. First night, Second Round, Third Round

Second round began in the same fashion, students of close age duelling against each other. This time, each of the Ravenclaw and Weasley twins faced one from the other pair of twins, with Gideon and Fred taking a victory in each duel. Cedric fought a six-year Ravenclaw, who clearly lacked practical training with spells, and was no match for the Tri-Wizard Tournament champion. Hermione went against Ron. Perhaps it was because he was still weary from his first duel, but it was quickly over. Ron aimed poorly and did not hit, and even messed up a Protego that turned out rather weak as a result; Hermione quickly seized this, sending a triple salvo of stunners against poor Ron who once again went down on the floor.

"Nicely done, Hermione," Harry said, acknowledging her feat. "You saw an advantage and made use of it immediately, that's quick thinking."

"Wait till it's your turn and you'll be the one regretting how we went at it," Ron grumbled, while Hermione merely smiled. Harry's turn was up and this time it was against Neville. This duel proved far more even than either of Hermione's two matches; although definitely a stronger duellist, Harry's weariness meant that Neville was more than a match for him. Although his natural gifts were perhaps not as strong as some others, including things like dexterity and agility, Neville made up for it in ambition. In fact, he had more than once talked with Harry about auror training and requirements, and Harry had showed him some of the mental exercises that could prepare one for learning Occlumency. There was no hesitation in Neville's spell casting, his wand movement, incantation pronunciation or otherwise. Harry felt himself pressed to his limit and on the defensive, barely able to counter Neville's incoming curses let alone return fire.

Finally, Harry dove to the ground behind a table to gain a few precious seconds, as he came up with a strategy. The stones in the floor were not hewn and made for some rough cracks and lines here and there. Harry conjured water forward and sent it in the direction of his adversary, along the floor. While he was doing this, Neville summoned the table away from Harry who had to get up quickly and once more dodge Neville's curses. It was Harry's plan to simply make Neville slip on the floor; turn the terrain against him. Perhaps it was not the best plan, perhaps it could never really succeed, perhaps it was the product of a rather worn mind; it all came to nothing as Neville hit Harry with Expelliarmus. Harry's heart thundered in his chest as his beloved holly wand flew from his grasp, and he hurried over to retrieve it while Neville was accepted as victor. Knowing that it was his own fault he lost, Harry congratulated Neville who was immensely pleased by his victory - rightfully so, given how all his spell casting had been done as the textbook described.

Harry did not pay much attention as the third round of duels commenced. He did not want to lose again, and could only hope his last opponent was already worn and might make mistakes. He considered new tactics, a way to surprise his adversary, and did not notice Cedric beat Katie Bell, Zabini taking out Malfoy or even Ron winning against a sixth-year Hufflepuff. Harry's attention was only grabbed when Moody announced his name.

"Harry Potter against Hermione Granger!" yelled Moody. Harry sat up startled, having sort of forgotten that it might be Hermione he was up against. Of course, there was no reason why he would not be; on the contrary, he had duelled against her more than any other. But that meant she of all people knew his tricks and plays, and he did not doubt that she had conserved her strength far better than him. She had even thought ahead to bring replenishing potions, and Harry had noticed her take one after her second duel. His mind was racing as he walked onto the floor, looking into the brown eyes of his opponent before they both bowed. They straightened up to look at each other again, and then came the signal from Moody.

Both exploded into action, throwing up the quickest wards and defences before launching an assault on each other. They both knew exactly the spells the other one was using without even thinking. One of them barely uttered a syllable of a spell before the other had a counter ready. Curses came so rapidly from Hermione it made everyone blink, and she was matched only by the speed with which Harry caught them and neutralised them with his wand. Having long since evolved past simple exchanges of spells, the duellists used everything as a weapon. Gusts of wind blew strongly like a storm was brewing inside the Great Hall. Chairs and tables where flung across the room and made the spectators flee to the sides or grab their wands to desperately stop the flying furniture.

A wall of fire shot into the air behind Harry, limiting his movements and blocking any retreat. A suit of armour came alive and rushed after Hermione, attempting to grab her with its hollow arms; it only stopped as she crouched low and practically stabbed it with her wand, severing the magical connection from Harry. Drawing on Hermione's spell, he pointed his wand behind his back and drew fire from her wall, before slinging it ahead against her. They both knew that fire was on the border of being too harmful; although not explicitly forbidden since burns could be easily treated, it was considered a risky move and a great shame for any duelling wizard or witch who could not keep their conjured fire under control. Seeing her own weapon used against her, Hermione ended the enchantment and the wall disappeared, before she followed up with a flood of water from the tip of her wand, gathering like a wave before pushing against Harry.

He in turn wielded his wand like a sword, cutting through the wave and it passed on either side of him without a single drop touching his clothes or shoes. All the professors were either standing or at the edge of the seat, mostly because if anything went out of control it was up to them to immediately handle the situation. Neither Harry nor Hermione noticed or paid it any heed; they had met a few evenings outside of their own duelling club or Moody's classes too, to duel privately without any observers. Although neither had gone as far as on this night, both felt completely in control, that magic animated them, flowed through them like blood in their veins.

How long this duel might have continued if both had been completely rested none could guess. They had tried in their private duels to keep it going for up to half an hour; on this night, they were only at the ten minute mark, however. After all their indirect and alternative strategies, Harry decided he might surprise Hermione by switching back to the classic frontal approach, throwing curses at her that would pass through Protego. Hermione was not caught unawares, though, and instead returned the favour, managing to hit Harry with a leg-locking spell. Falling flat on the ground, Harry quickly mumbled the release while he looked at Hermione, knowing this was when she should strike; their eyes met, brown against green, and in that moment, no spells were cast. Hermione seemed frozen in action, before Harry managed to free himself.

When she finally threw a stunner, Harry had rolled away and thrown a disarm the other way. Hermione's wand flew out of her grasp. She seemed as hit by a stun instead, before she retrieved her wand and then walked over to Harry, while the cheers went crazy in the hall, and even some of the professors were clapping (while others began to repair some of the damage done). Helping him to his feet, she also had to support him and could barely keep herself standing up against his weight. They managed to get themselves over to a table and practically collapsed on it.

"Good duel," Harry said, managing a faint smile as he breathed heavily.

"Our best so far," Hermione replied, smiling as well.

"Don't suppose you got another potion," Harry said with a vain hope shining through in his voice. Hermione shook her head.

"One potion per day is the recommendation, so we shouldn't. Also I didn't prepare more; you can join me Saturday evening in the dungeons, I got permission to use the school supplies."

"I'll be there," Harry said, grinning. He had never felt so drained, so empty of thoughts, needs, concerns.

"I'm a bit sorry I won, though - or rather, that we can't both win, so to say," Harry said. Hermione made some kind of shrug, although she was lying down and feeling too tired to move anything.

"It'll just motivate me to do better," she said, turning her head to look at Harry and smile again before finally sitting up properly to watch the last duel of the night, Neville against Ginny.

"He's going to lose," Hermione said with certainty.

"He did beat me," Harry argued, but Hermione disagreed.

"He's not better than you though, not even your equal. He's about as good as Ginny, but she has one advantage he hasn't."

"What's that?"

"She doesn't like him the way he likes her," and there was a little sense of sadness in the statement, as if Hermione felt sorry for Neville. Her analysis turned out to be true; after some initial back and forth, Neville missed his aim while Ginny struck true.

When everybody separated from the Great Hall to their respective common rooms, the entire castle was animated by endless chatter on the duels. To most present, it had been their first exposure to serious, well-trained duellists, rather than the usually feeble spell-throwing allowed in defence class.

"You didn't wear your necklace to the fight?" asked Harry, only now noticing that Hermione was not wearing his gift.

"No, it felt a bit like cheating, using a magical item for a duel. Besides, need to practise not to rely on it," she replied. "Though I do like it very much," she hastened to add, and Harry laughed.

"I didn't think otherwise," he said and said goodnight, walking up to his room with Ron. Both of them more or less fell on their beds and went to sleep, still fully clothed.

The following day they met for their unofficial duel club, and talks quickly resumed about yesterday's matches. Some merely exchanged their impressions, while others discussed a particularly crafty move, how to emulate it or counter it. Harry made sure to congratulate Neville on his victory over him again; he knew how much it meant to Neville to have a victory under his belt, and Harry wanted to make sure he felt that he had deserved it. In the last couple of months, none had improved as dramatically as Neville, and Harry felt a little like a team captain, since the club had been his idea to begin with. It was his job to encourage his players and boost their morale.

They had been practising Patronus-spells lately, but Harry had suggested it was time they moved on to new spells, perhaps some of those that had been performed yesterday with great success. They all understood the basics of the Patronus-spell now anyway, and could practise individually; Harry knew he needed to. He had yet to successfully cast one, and although he knew there was no shame in not mastering that spell, he felt freer to attempt (and fail) when alone. The Patronus-spell was possibly the most complicated piece of magic he had yet to try, since it did not merely require the use of magic, learning a spell and how to cast it. The mental focus necessary was strange to him, nothing like what he used for Occlumency. Try as he might, Harry had not yet been able to think of any memory so happy it did the trick.


	17. The Third Conversation

Saturday, Harry was still worn and he spent a good while of it sleeping, until Hermione taught him the replenishing potion in the evening and allowed him to fill a few vials for personal use. She had learned it from Cedric, who had come across it in his studies to be a healer. Hermione promised to tell him if she came across further potions like it, even though she did not know Harry's particular reason for inquiring. And when they were done, Harry was so happy to have his evenings free of detention, they simply walked around the castle corridors for a little while before joining the rest of Gryffindor in the common room. Harry lost a few games to Ron in chess, everybody laughed at the Weasley twins latest stunt (advertisement push, as they called it) and Harry felt what had perhaps been lacking in the last couple of months since his return to Hogwarts. That feeling of home, of belonging, the routine of things as one day took over for the other. The feeling, the routine, lasted until sometime in October when the Quidditch season had begun.

The first omen that Harry's era of peaceful days was at an end came with one of Dumbledore's almost ominous notes. _Harry, I would like to speak with you after dinner tonight_. It was a Sunday, with Gryffindor playing Slytherin in the evening. Harry was not a huge Quidditch fan however, and had already decided to abandon being a spectator for the matches in favour of practising spells. Even after a month, he still had not mastered the Patronus. And although his Occlumency was doing better, it was a discipline for which his mind could always use more exercise. Harry did his best through the day to practice, or distract himself from the upcoming conversation with spending time with his friends; Ron, however, was completely entrenched in the upcoming match where he played keeper, and the conversation constantly turned towards Quidditch, which failed to engage Harry's attention. When it was finally time to meet Dumbledore, Harry had spent most of the day wondering what the discussion would be. It seemed that each time he spoke with Dumbledore, everything became worse.

"Welcome, Harry, thank you for meeting me," Dumbledore said, for once waiting for Harry as he entered the office.

"Certainly, Professor. It sounded important," Harry said, hoping Dumbledore would get to the point quickly.

"I fear I have some bad news. And merely calling it bad news is the greatest understatement I have ever made." Dumbledore's clear, blue eyes seemed to drill their way into Harry's and he unconsciously gripped the armrest on his chair. Dumbledore did not wait for Harry to speak.

"I have confirmation from an eyewitness. Voldemort has returned. My informant saw him in his old form, looking as alive and strong as he did before he encountered you some fourteen years ago."

Harry's knuckles went white. Although he had prepared himself for a day when he might have been hunted, he had not yet been able to imagine such a reality. It had as much been about giving him a purpose, making him feel like he had something to work towards, to focus his energies on. It had entertained him to imagine contingencies, plan for being on his own, finding and learning useful spells and tricks. But the actuality of the Dark Lord resurrected... no, even in his worst nightmares Harry had not seriously imagined that.

"I can't know the dread you must feel," Dumbledore's quiet voice cut through Harry's thoughts. "I dearly wish I could tell you not to worry, that everything will be alright. But I will not lull you into a false sense of security. Even if you are safe here at Hogwarts, Harry, the rest of the country around us will not be. I will do everything to protect you, but I may not always be able to."

"I understand," Harry said, swallowing his emotions. "I know I might have to hide, that he will come after me. It's what I have been preparing for." Even if I secretly did not think I would truly need it, Harry thought.

"And not just hide... Harry, if I asked you to fight; for me, for Hogwarts, for every person in this country, wizard or Muggle, who is in danger from Voldemort. I know it is the most terrible thing to ask, and not a fair question at all. But tell me, as honestly as you can, do you think you could ever stand up to him?"

Dumbledore's eyes pierced into Harry's, as if the old man did not need to use magic to read his soul, as if no Occlumency could ever hide one's thoughts.

"If I have to, I'll fight," Harry said, surprised at how meek his own voice was. In his mind, he had felt he was shouting. "I don't know if I'll stand a chance, but if it comes to it... well it just seems like the only choice, doesn't it? If I am ever face to face with him, it's either that or just roll over." At this answer, Dumbledore took a deep breath, and it felt like he released Harry from a spell.

"Indeed, the only choice. It is my duty to tell you something, Harry, something so heavy to bear and yet you must know. There is a prophecy. Yes, Divination is the most esoteric and difficult of all magical disciplines; it cannot be learned, only... glimpsed. But this prophecy is true." Dumbledore's eyes became distant, as he was in this very moment glancing into the future. Harry thought back on the conversation with Firenze, and what the planets foretold.

" Professor?" Harry said encouragingly, holding his breath.

"The prophecy was made and recorded at the Ministry, though Alastor destroyed that long ago. Voldemort did not learn all its details, only that it said a child born on a particular day had the power to destroy him. That child was you, who reflected his killing curse back on him."

"But that's already happened. What does this have to do about now?" As Harry asked, Dumbledore turned that terribly insightful gaze back on him.

"I was there, Harry. I was the one who witnessed the prophecy, who heard it all. It foretold that you would meet until one was no more. Your first meeting with Voldemort was only the beginning. You and he is destined to meet, again and again until one is fully, irrevocably dead. Voldemort does not know this, I think; but he knows you are the symbol of his defeat, and so he seeks to kill you himself. He still underestimates you, I believe. He does not realise how dangerous you can be, that you carry the seed of his destruction."

"So I was never really going to go into hiding or such," Harry said, trying to come to terms with this. The most ruthless wizard in the world, who killed as easily as he drew breath, whom the stars themselves had set on his path. "I can't escape. That's what the centaurs saw, a battle in the future. Me against him."

"I fear so, Harry. You are to become a hero, the one who will kill Voldemort; if you can. The prophecy, alas, did not foretell the exact outcome of your final meeting. I am sorry that choice has in this way been ripped from you. I do not say those words idly; I walked the very path you are about to step on to more than fifty years ago, when they told me that none but I could stop Grindelwald. I know how dark and lonely it is," Dumbledore said, and there was such incredible sadness in his voice that Harry felt his throat clench.

Fawkes too noticed it; the phoenix flew from its perch and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, as if trying to comfort the old wizard by its mere presence.

"We still have time," Dumbledore continued, his voice now firm and normal again. "Voldemort will not try his usual direct approach and brute tactics as he did last, intimidating people openly. Lucius Malfoy has already been gathering support in the Wizengamot for a long time, and even longer than that tried to get me removed as headmaster. No, the Ministry will be their first target that they weaken, until it is either incapable of fighting them or they can use its resources for their own purposes. It will be several months at least. Continue with your preparations as you have so far, Harry. I will let you know when things have changed," Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded mutely, sensing the conversation was over. He certainly had nothing more to say. In the last couple of months, he had been preparing for the worst without expecting it. Now it had not only happened, Voldemort was returned, but it was written on the stone tablets of fate themselves that Harry would face him. His childhood, his adolescence, whatever one might call it, was over. And it would take a miracle to avoid that his life went the same way. Harry got up and walked out the passageway, noticing Moody coming the other way, but still too affected to greet him. However, just before he left, Harry stopped to catch the conversation between Moody and Dumbledore.

"You told the lad," Moody said.

"I did. I did, I did..." Dumbledore's voice trailed off.

"Did you tell him about those?" Presumably Moody gestured against something Harry could not see.

"Not yet."

"Will you tell him he was one himself once?"

"To what end?" Dumbledore asked rhetorically. "No, I cleansed him, I exorcised that hideous taint though it cost me months of recovery. No, he just needs to know about the last; the one I have yet to find."

"Would it not be better you did so, rather than leave it to the boy?" Moody asked.

"If I can find it first, I will. But if time runs out... I have a plan, Alastor. It is the best I could come up with. I will stick to it, and we will see. A third war between wizards, I have lived for too long that I should see that! This will be my last deed... and if it saves Harry, maybe that will redeem me for all the hardships I have put him through." Dumbledore's voice once more acquired that distinct tone of tragedy that by now made Harry almost shake with emotion. He could not listen any longer, and he fled out of the passageway.

At first, Harry moved blindly down the corridors, feeling the walls closing in on him. He breathed rapidly, his mind struggling to think. Voldemort's return, the prophecy, a taint? Finally Harry sunk down on his knees, back against the wall while his breathing slowed a bit. This was not fair, and what chance did he stand? None, Harry thought bitterly, desperately. But your life has never been fair, Harry, a voice whispered inside his head. You were so young when your family was killed and your life was destroyed. Your life has never had much worth, the voice continued. But the rest of them, knowing what a family is, belonging to one, one day making their own... Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, all your friends. Would it be fair that one of them had to do this? They have a chance of happiness once this is all done, but facing Voldemort and all his Death Eaters will get them killed; or even if they survive, they will be damaged, damaged the way you are now, Harry.

You alone can do this; deep down you know that you don't understand family, happiness, love, all those things. You are already fractured in so many ways, Harry, although you mask the cracks admirably, even manage to forget them at times. If you face Voldemort, if you stop him, it will not matter what the cost is. You have nothing to lose, unlike them, who have everything to lose. You are expendable, Harry, they are not, the voice finished and fell silent. It knew that Harry agreed. He had perhaps suspected something like this for a long time, or at times felt a vague realisation that he then ignored. But it had become all too obvious in the last few months.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry said, moving his wand. Some thin, silver mist was produced, but nothing at all like the Patronus-shape that was meant to appear. Think of a happy memory. Think positive feelings, channel them into your wand. Relive the happiness. Harry had read those guides several times, and still came up short. His first eleven years of memories were bitter. And those afterwards, none seemed to suffice. Harry had tried, again and again, using different memories. Ron, his first real friend; Hermione, his second. Spending the summer days with her. Ginny at The Three Broomsticks. None of it had worked. That deep-seated feeling of genuine happiness, however one described it, whatever kind of elusive emotion it was, Harry did not know it. Could not feel it. He was broken. Swallowing his emotions, Harry stood from the floor, his wand still in hand. His resolve reaffirmed itself. He would turn this into his advantage; he would face Voldemort knowing he was expendable, and be the stronger for it.

The rest of the evening, Harry drifted around the castle. Its halls were curiously empty, as if Hogwarts itself understood the weight on him and gently gave him solitude. Harry's attention moved here and there: looking out at the lake, which was in an uproar. Examining his wand, letting his finger run over the smooth surface of the holly. Reading the inscription beneath a suit of armour, glad he did not have to polish it. But most of all Harry was thinking, thinking on his friends, everyone he knew, and how much time he might have left. Perhaps he should tell them, Harry considered. Voldemort's return meant everything changed. And maybe he could tell them the rest, the prophecy, what would happen. He could not take his friends with him when he had to face Voldemort, but maybe they could help him until then. There was time left, and Harry knew he had to make the most of it. His decision made, Harry walked back towards the Gryffindor tower.


	18. The Beginnings and Ends of Friendship

When he entered the common room, Harry was astonished to find it full, with banners and the colours of Gryffindor everywhere. A celebration was in full effect, and it took Harry a moment to remember that they had played a Quidditch match. Apparently we won, Harry thought, not able to feel elated. He just wanted to tell Ron and Hermione, deal with the matter at hand. And then probably go to bed, try and sleep and dream of something better. Moving along the periphery of the main group, Harry saw the various students surrounding the Quidditch players, everybody having butterbeers courtesy of the Weasley smuggling ring.

"We won," Ginny said suddenly, appearing next to him. "Beating Slytherin, you can imagine how good they feel," she said, and Harry nodded a little.

"Definitely," he said. He had not thought about Ginny, if she was somebody he should talk to as well. He decided against it; maybe another time, if it went well now.

"I would like to talk to Ron, actually, think you could grab his attention for me?" Harry asked. Ginny gave him a puzzled look but agreed. Harry looked around and finally spotted Hermione, in the other end of the room that was packed. He managed to catch her eye, trying to gesture to her if she could join him. Then Ron came over, still laughing and smiling as he turned his head and shouted some comment behind him.

"Hey mate, where were you tonight?" Ron asked.

"Dumbledore asked to talk to me after dinner," Harry said. "Listen..."

"All night?" Ron asked quizzically.

"What? No, we just talked for a while and then I wandered around a bit."

"You couldn't have come out and watched the game? We beat Slytherin, Harry, it was brilliant! I've never played so perfect a game, you should have seen me! Well, you would have, if you had come out to watch rather than 'wander around'," Ron said, making an expression as he spoke his last two words.

"That's great, Ron, but I need to talk to you, about what Dumbledore said to me," Harry said, ignoring Ron's expression and trying to get back on topic.

"Must have been important if it made you think for hours rather than support your best friend during a match," Ron said, and this time he definitely sounded peeved.

"Well yes, sorry, Quidditch isn't that terribly important compared to other things," Harry said sardonically.

"Why, because you aren't interested in it? Or because it's something you're not good at," Ron asked rhetorically.

"What?" Harry said surprised.

"Something you're not better at than me, I should say," Ron continued.

"What are you on about? Did you fall from your broomstick and land on your head?"

"Well, it seems to be all you care about these days. Being the best at everything, in every class. Sucking up to grease-faced Snape, sucking up to Moody and Dumbledore, every teacher in school! Must be paying off, I guess, with you getting Dumbledore's personal attention. But maybe that's just a perk of being famous and better than everybody else," Ron said so loudly, it was only because the common room was already filled to the brim with noise that nobody else heard.

"Oh, you think I want this? You think I prefer this scar and everything that comes with it rather than playing Quidditch, sleeping in class, cheating on all my homework, skating through life without a care in the world?" Harry retorted, feeling his temperature rise.

"What's going on?" Hermione's voice pierced through the heated atmosphere as she sent them both worried glances.

"Somebody had to throw a fit because I didn't watch him fool around on a broomstick," Harry said sarcastically.

"And as usual somebody is too good for the rest of us ordinary people," Ron yelled. "Well, if that is the kind of friend you are, Harry, you can go to hell. While I am going over to where people appreciate my company," he finished, spun around and marched back to the circle of people. Harry sent a vicious look at his back and then stormed out of the common room, continuing down a flight of stairs until he ended up pacing back and forth, fuming.

A few moments after, he heard footsteps and looked up to see Hermione.

"Harry, are you alright? I mean - under the circumstances." The question was asked with such concern, that while Harry wanted to yell that nothing was alright, the whole world was wrong, he swallowed the urge and made some sort of cross between shrugging and shaking his head.

"I'll be fine," he muttered.

"I'm sorry you two are fighting," Hermione said as she continued down the stairs, reaching Harry and looking at him with brown eyes that mirrored the concern in her voice.

"Me too, but it wasn't me who wanted it," Harry defended himself.

"No, you're not the type. I don't think Ron is either, but it's been bottling up inside of him for a while now."

"What has?" Harry exclaimed, still surprised at Ron's reaction. It had come out of nowhere as far as Harry knew.

"Aw, Harry, you haven't noticed, have you. Ever since this year started... I mean most of the time you're gone. We only see you in class really, you spend all your spare time elsewhere, you don't even eat lunch with us. And even in class, you dumped Ron as a partner to work with me."

"Are you saying I was wrong to do that," it burst from Harry. Hermione hurried to deny this, though.

"Of course not, Harry, it made sense. You and I work well together, we have the same ambition to do well. It's just... from Ron's perspective, it's like you've cut him out of your life. Quidditch is the only thing he really has at Hogwarts, that he's good at, that he cares about. And when he plays well, when he wins, he wants his best friend to be there - he just feels that you aren't his friend anymore, that you've become so... secretive, aloof, always busy with plans that the rest of us can't be involved in."

"Is that what he said? Is that what you think," Harry asked, and his voice betrayed how hurt he felt.

"Of course not!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's not what I think. And Ron didn't say anything, not really. I just... put two and two together."

"Unlike me," Harry said weakly. He was still so angry at Ron, practically bursting with anger. But if it was really his own fault? He did not know what to think anymore. He moved up against a windowsill and jumped up to sit on it.

"It's not.. I didn't mean anything like that. I've just been busy. Unlike the rest of you, I can't expect to just finish Hogwarts and go have a normal life."

"Well you don't have to seek out danger actively by becoming an auror, you know," Hermione reproached him, and somehow it felt good to hear that familiar sentiment again.

"I don't think I'll be an auror," Harry muttered. It was on his lips; he wanted to say it, that Voldemort was back, that he was preparing for a fight. But that would derail everything. They would not be able to talk about anything else, Hermione would panic, and it would hang like a shadow over her constantly. And if she was concerned about him because he had had a fight with his best friend, how would she react to being told that Harry at some point would come face to face with the Dark Lord? No, Harry realised, there was no reason she should know. Let her worry about arguments between friends, and he would worry about the life-and-death situations. Hermione moved up to set next to him in the windowsill.

"Give him some time to cool off, he'll realise what he said and you can patch things up," Hermione offered.

"Yeah, maybe," Harry said. Now that his thoughts had trailed back to what was ahead of him, he found himself less troubled by his argument with Ron. "I'm not a very good friend, am I," Harry said, looking at Hermione. He was not fishing for compliments; he was merely rephrasing what Hermione had said. Not only now, explaining how he had alienated Ron, but also earlier this year, when he had punched Malfoy and later challenged him to a duel, giving Hermione ample reason to be angry with him.

"It's not on purpose," Harry added.

"I know it's not on purpose, you can just be - cold, sometimes. Seem uncaring. Like you aren't really interested in what other people are thinking or feeling, even those closest to you." Hermione's voice grew thin and she was staring out the window as she spoke. Harry drew sharp breaths as if suddenly pained; her words hurt more than anything Ron could ever have said, because he knew she was exactly right in her assessment.

"I just don't know," Harry tried to argue. "I don't understand other people, I can't tell how they react, or what they think. Whenever I try to figure out something about somebody else, I draw a complete blank. I just don't... know how to relate," he offered, frustration overtaking his voice. "Like at The Three Broomsticks, with Ginny, before Malfoy spoiled everything. I didn't even realise what she was doing, what was going on. I don't know if people like me or hate me until they are practically slapping me in the face!"

"I saw that," Hermione said quietly, "At The Three Broomsticks. I - I didn't realise you two liked each other."

"I don't think we do," Harry said bitterly. "I have no idea how that would even feel, and I certainly can't recognise it in somebody else. I don't... I don't know how it feels when somebody cares about you, not even the way family cares about you. And I don't know how it feels when you care about somebody else. I don't think I've ever loved anybody, in any sense of the word. And I have no idea how it would feel if somebody loved me. I just don't know."

A bitter silence followed these words, until Hermione finally broke it. "Harry, remember when we became friends?"

"Yeah, though... I mean we just talked, right," Harry said a little confused. Hermione gave a quick, surprised laugh, turning her eyes on him before she looked out the window again.

"It was right after Ron told me that nobody liked me, that I had no friends. You and him were already friends by then, it was a few weeks after we all started at Hogwarts," Hermione began to tell, and Harry realised that what was some vague memory to him had remained clear in her mind. "I ran off, practically in tears, hiding in a stall in the girls' bathroom. And I heard the footsteps of somebody entering, I tried to keep my tears quiet, not get noticed. But it was you, you knew I was there, you followed me. You sat down on the floor, leaning against the other side of the door to the stall. I told you to go away, to leave me alone," Hermione said, and her words came so well-arranged like she was telling a story she knew by heart.

"You said that you saw I was upset, and when somebody was upset, their friends came and comforted them by staying with them. I stopped crying when I heard that; think I recognised the tone in your voice," Hermione said, throwing Harry a quick glance before she looked away again, out the window.

Hermione continued. "I told you that I had no friends, and you said I was wrong, since you were there to comfort me. I asked why, why are you my friend? We've barely even spoken and I know you don't like me. And you said... you said..." Only now did Hermione's voice grow less strong, less certain, shaking a little.

"You said that you knew what it was like to have no friends. And you weren't going to let that be me," Hermione said, looking again at Harry and this time keeping her gaze on him. "And I opened the door, and came out of the stall. You got up, took my hand and didn't let go until we were outside the classroom for our next class."

Harry sat, staring back at her, speechless. The more she spoke, the better he remembered the moment; he had not really thought about it, just heard Ron's words that Hermione had no friends, that nobody liked her. He remembered hearing Dudley say the same about him, he remembered being the one crying somewhere alone, and nobody came to comfort him, to be his friend. It had not seemed like a conscious choice. It had just seemed like the only thing he could do; Hermione had no friends, so he needed to be hers. Hermione got up from her seat, moving a bit to stand next to him.

"I better go talk to Ron too, see if I can't mend things a bit. And you can think about what I said. I know you're troubled, Harry, but it's not as bad as you think. And I can tell you for certain that there are those who love you. I know of at least one," she said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before she disappeared up the stairs to the common room.

Harry remained by the window, looking out. From this side of the castle, one had view of the now empty Quidditch field. It was raining heavily; it had to have been a tough match under those conditions. Exhaling deeply, Harry found he could not bring himself to care about Quidditch one way or the other. Not even if it was what his friend's life revolved around. All events of the evening had made the same conclusion apparent. Fate had made the right choice in making him Voldemort's nemesis and not anybody else. Harry did not fit into this world, and so he was the perfect instrument for something like this.

Feeling strangely heartened at this, this resolution of things, Harry sat and watched the rain trickle down the window. When at last he felt assured that everybody would have gone to sleep, Harry walked up the stairs, through the empty common room and into his dorm where everybody was sleeping. He changed to his sleepwear, placed his wand on its pedestal and removed his glasses. Then he closed his eyes and thankfully it was not long before he drifted off.


	19. Kentauroi

When Monday morning came, Harry was once again subjected to a cold shoulder from one of his best friends. However, Ron carried out his cold war differently; since they were not partners in any of the classes, he could avoid Harry completely and usually sat with the rest of the boys from their year, who had understood that Harry had apparently snubbed Ron's (and thereby Gryffindor's) victory in Quidditch. The exception was Neville, who remained a steadfast friend to Harry. Hermione did her best to be impartial and so the classes where she was partnered with Harry she sat next to him, and the others next to Ron. This left Divination class as a tortured hour to get through.

The only thing Harry could think of was astrology, in the manner as studied by the centaurs though, rather than Trelawney. He had not forgotten Firenze's words and what the centaur had read in the stars. If there were any truth to it, maybe more could be unearthed. Or well, unspaced rather than unearthed, Harry thought to himself, miserably failing at a joke he could not even tell anybody since he was sitting alone in the classroom. None of his other friends apart from Ron had this class; they were some of the only boys in there, and Harry never really approached the girls of his year.

Sure, he was on friendly terms with them, but he never actually spoke with them except when necessary, and just did not have any interest in them; it was difficult enough for Harry to understand boys his own age sometimes, girls were a minefield to even think about. Hermione was different, but maybe because they had been friends for so long now he did not feel like he had to spend any effort when with her. And there was Ginny, of course, who was a different matter altogether.

When the class ended, Harry realised he had drifted off in his thoughts and not actually accomplished anything. Perhaps he should ask Hagrid for another trip into the forest and hope to encounter Firenze - it seemed doubtful that Harry would ever be able to unlock any secrets from the stars himself. Instead, Harry focused entirely on his preparations. At first, Harry had prepared himself for having to run from Voldemort and his henchmen, living in hiding and possibly out in the countryside.

Then Dumbledore had told him there was no point in running, he would face his nemesis no matter what; but Moody had hinted that Harry might need survival equipment nonetheless. He would say little more than that, had merely encouraged Harry to continue his preparations. So Harry made potions to stave off hunger, dehydration and hypothermia. Thanks to the knowledge he gained in Magical Theory, Harry was able to enchant the bottles so the glass could withstand being smashed against the floor, or clanging against each other in a bag.

He enchanted his own glasses likewise, having broken his share of glasses in the past. He also threw a handy little enchantment on them, for emergency use; he imagined nobody would ever suspect his glasses of carrying any kinds of enchantments, since their ordinary use was apparent - when people saw somebody with glasses, they rarely made a note of it. The best hiding place was in plain sight, Moody had told him once, and then continued to say that plain sight was usually where people got ambushed though, so maybe the old proverb was rather useless.

It was late November and getting chilly when Hagrid took Harry into the Forbidden Forest once more. Since he was at odds with Ron, only Hermione was extended an invitation as well from Harry. She seemed indecisive; unlike Ron she was not captivated by the idea of breaking rules or entering forbidden territory, but she had not grown up with George and Fred as older brothers either. However, whether it was her friendship with Harry or her curiosity, she accepted and joined the boy and the half-giant at the latter's hut Friday night. They did not go far in before they reached a campsite, another of Hagrid's regular spots.

Since the sun went down so quickly and temperature dropped, they made camp early and Harry practised starting a fire the mundane way. Hermione had gone camping with her parents on occasion and Mr. Granger was apparently not entirely without practical skills; she gathered kindling quickly and made a spark with Harry, until a flame blossomed between them and grew. Keeping close to keep warm, the three roasted some food and looked up to admire the firmament above them. They only lowered their eyes when the sound of hooves came against them. Harry had his wand in the bracer he got from Moody and kept his attention ready to eject the wand into his hand, but he relaxed when he saw the centaur.

"Hermione, this is Firenze," Harry introduced her. She waved a bit meekly and said hello, her eyes going over his strong arms, the bow in his hands and quiver of arrows on his back.

"I greet you, friend of Harry," Firenze said solemnly, lowering the hand that held the bow. Hermione seemed to relax a bit and sent the imposing centaur a smile.

"Hagrid said you would venture into the forest tonight, and perhaps again not be opposed to my company."

"Not at all," said Harry, while Hermione simultaneously said: "No, certainly."

"I have continued to observe the stars since we last spoke, though I have learned nothing new, I fear. Although the stars are not capricious, indeed they move only as they must, they are often obscured." Harry listened with fascination, barely digesting what Firenze said. The very appearance, manner and speech of the centaur was as taken from another age, and Harry wished he could have lived when these beings were common across the isles, living harmoniously with wizards.

"That's alright, I didn't really expect that," Harry said, suddenly conscious that Hermione did not know anything about what Firenze had told him when they first met, and he preferred to keep her in the dark.

"Will you tell us something about your people? I think Hermione would greatly appreciate that," he said and gave her a look, judging her to be as fascinated as himself. Hagrid was gnawing on a leftover sausage, clearly more accustomed to Firenze's presence.

"Very well, for a centaur is always moved by the desire to gain knowledge," Firenze said with a smile.

"Consider that my first lesson on my people," he said, laughing a bit. "I am not our Keeper, and thus I do not possess the wealth of knowledge of our history as he does. But I hear the Song at each meeting of our clan, as he recites it. The very first verse depicts the beginning of our people, of how centaurs came to be when magic was free in the air, just as it flows in the blood through my veins; and through you, young wizard and witch, who likewise share this gift from the dawn of time."

There was complete silence now, as Firenze spoke; Hagrid had leaned back a bit, making a comfortable seat for himself as he dowsed while Harry and Hermione sat at the edge of their seats; or edge of the log, rather.

"The next verse speaks of how we came to this land, invited by the great sage Merlin, who wished for our lore and craft to grace the island. The third verse speaks of how we became the clans we are today - though of the many clans of the age of Merlin, only mine remains." The sadness in Firenze's voice made Harry swallow from emotion, moved in a way he had never felt before.

Harry blinked and looked away, into the fire, noticing that Hermione's gaze was also upon it. And then, as Firenze's voice continued, it seemed to echo with a kind of magic of its own; and what the centaur spoke of, Harry saw in the dancing flames.

"Then come the verses speaking of the Romans, who drove us to the edges of the land, and how we began to hide from humans; fading into myth and obscurity, like the giants, the dragons and so many other beings. They speak of when we came to this forest and chose it as our domain, deciding we would not retreat any further. The Song speaks of the castle of the wizards being built, how the sword bearer came to us and agreed that the forest would be forbidden for all wizards and witches, if we in turn would not harm the castle's inhabitants that strayed into our territory. And then the Song ends, for in a thousand years, we have known peace." There was a brief pause, and the flames seemed to resume their wild, arbitrary gestures.

"But soon a new verse shall be added. Of this we are sure. It was more than fifty years ago when last we felt threatened, and thought the Song would have to be extended; a war had come close, almost reaching tree line." In the fire, Harry saw two wizards fighting, and suddenly to his shock he recognised one of them as a younger Dumbledore; not a young man, but not old either. In his prime, the greatest wizard of his time, fighting for his life against an equally matched opponent.

"It was averted, for that war did not truly concern itself with this place. But the coming days will spiral around the castle of the wizards. Like a maelstrom it will hurl this forest with it, and the centaurs cannot avoid it. We are not in doubt that another verse must be added to the Song. We are only in doubt as to whether there will be any to sing it, once the dust settles. Or if finally, after many thousand years, the Song will end." Now the fires subsumed and the magic was gone; Harry was once again staring at an ordinary camp fire.

The silence lasted for a little while, then Firenze cleared his throat and gave the two teenagers a smile. "That is not your concern, however, only the Keeper's. We are a brooding people, we centaurs, and you are too young for heavy burdens. I will take my leave, and allow you sleep. Perhaps, if you still wish it, we shall meet again."

"I think we do," said Harry, a little shaken by everything but still fascinated by everything Firenze had said.

"May your sight be clear and your arrow fly true," he said, which made the great centaur smile broadly.

"May your sight be clear and your arrows fly true, Harry and you, friend of Harry," Firenze said, giving a nod to Hermione who repeated the formula. Then the centaur galloped away, gone in seconds.

"He's an interesting fellow, isn't he," Hagrid said. "A bit gloomy for my taste; and he says he's the jester of the bunch! Probably why I don't get along with the rest of them."

"It's strange to think about so much history, right on the doorstep of Hogwarts. And yet we don't know about it, in fact it could all be gone if their predictions are true. What do you think he was talking about, Harry? I figured he meant Dumbledore's duel against Grindelwald, but there's no such threat now," Hermione said speculatively. The pangs of a bad conscience overwhelmed Harry, but he stuck to his decision. Certainly it was not a discussion he wanted to have with her when somebody else was present.

Hagrid made some sort of humming noise and then arranged a watch schedule, before going to sleep within minutes. Harry took the first watch, but spent most of it staring into the fire. He recalled seeing Dumbledore in it, how impressive he looked and yet how he seemed to struggle, on the brink of defeat. He won, Harry thought, despite it all he won. Yes, that treacherous voice came, but he was also acknowledged as the most powerful wizard of his time - you're acknowledged to be a completely ordinary teenager, except for a scar on your forehead, which is proof of something you had nothing to do with, but happened by accident. It was going to be a long night, Harry considered, the only company his thoughts.

The next day they had a pleasant trek through the forest back to the castle, taking good time to enjoy the woods in the daylight. Although the conversations with Firenze cast a sombre mood over the excursions into the forest, Harry still enjoyed the trips. It was so - mundane, in a way, compared to how magic saturated Hogwarts. And the simplicity had a pleasantness to it, as if his life and burdens became less complicated because he was doing something less complicated. Of course, it was also pleasant because in the morning he returned to Hogwarts, proper meals and a real bed waiting for him the next night. He separated from Hermione in the common room, each of them going to their dorms.

Inside the room, Harry saw Ron who stared briefly before demonstratively turning around. Harry imagined that Ron could guess where Harry had been last night and was most likely envious; one could hope it would make him want to be friends again, but Harry had a feeling it only made Ron more stubborn. Mentally shrugging, Harry took a shower followed by a change of clothes. After that, homework needed to be dealt with. A few galleons changed hands, and Harry's essay for Professor Binns was ready. The essay for Professor Moody could not be handled similarly, however. A side-effect of his paranoia was that he presumed most students would cheat if given the possibility, hence he took every precaution to ensure there were no possibilities.

It ate up the rest of his afternoon to finish it, and after dinner, Harry went to the dungeons. Hermione had begun to initiate Harry into the potions and brews she had learned from her extra-curricular studies into medical magic. Always eager to teach someone willing to listen, Hermione showed Harry every kind of potion she knew without ever asking why Harry wanted to have samples of them; presumably she thought he was simply of an inquisitive mind like herself. Slowly, Harry's stock increased with potions that would stop blood loss, replenish lost blood, cure mild fevers or infections, antidotes against certain types of poison like snake venom and so on. His preparations were coming along well.


	20. Second Night, First Round

The next day was Sunday, and time for the second gathering of the official duel club. They would meet four times in all, twice before Christmas and twice after. The great hall was buzzing with excitement already during breakfast, for Moody had put up the list that sorted the members into the five tiers. Ten were in the lowest fifth tier, and another ten were in the fourth tier; among them Ron, Ginny and Neville. The remaining ten members were all placed in the third tier. Since they had only met once, and fought a few duels each, Moody was not giving anybody a spot in the second tier yet, let alone the coveted first tier, which meant you were the reigning champion. So for now, the ten best duellists all occupied the same rank, able to challenge each other freely.

Harry let his eyes slide over the lists, noticing with a little smug satisfaction that he was ranked higher than Ron; though not, to his chagrin, higher than Malfoy.

"We're both in the third tier," Hermione said excitedly to Harry, who turned his eyes upwards to look at the top ten students again. Apart from him and Hermione, there was Malfoy, as Harry had noticed. Cedric, naturally, considered perhaps the best duellist in the school. Both the Ravenclaw twins and the Weasley twins had made their way into the third ranking, as well as Katie Bell, a Gryffindor that Harry knew vaguely.

And the last was somebody called Blaise Zabini, whom Harry remembered as a Slytherin he sometimes had classes with. One Hufflepuff, two Ravenclaws, two Slytherins, five Gryffindors. Not bad, though the unofficial duelling club consisted mostly of Gryffindors so maybe it was not so strange they had done well.

"I wonder how it will be tonight?" Hermione said contemplatively. "When Moody doesn't arrange the duels, but you get challenged. Or make a challenge," she finished, no doubt already considering who among the third tier she might challenge; due to the rules of the club that stated she could not challenge one of lower ranking than herself, she had only nine possibilities for whom she might challenge.

Harry had not considered whom he might want to challenge at all, and once again checked the names on the list. If he wanted to win, and get the top spot, it made sense he should challenge those he thought he had the best chance of beating; preferably somebody he did not know from his own duelling club and who would know most of his tricks. That excluded six on the list, leaving him Malfoy, Zabini and Katie.

While it might be gratifying to see Malfoy on the floor again, Harry was mindful that adding personal enmity to his duels might have bad consequences. Hermione's rebuke was still fresh in his mind, that he tended to act before thinking, and so Harry decided to play it safe. Zabini and Katie it was, if he were to challenge any.

A shame he had not been attentive when they had duelled, so he would know their strengths and weaknesses, but the last time the duel club met he could not have known he would go up against them next. He would have to devise some general strategies, possibly try and predict their tactics while keeping in mind that it would be speculation.

"Harry? Want to go and practise a bit, get ready for tonight?" Hermione's voice interrupted Harry's ponderings, and he turned to look at her, nodding when he had processed her question.

"That sounds like a good idea," he replied, letting his left hand slide over the sleeve on his right arm, which covered his wand in the bracer. Even at breakfast, Harry felt uneasy if he did not have his wand on him, and it was reassuring to feel the slight fold in the fabric, hard against his thumb where the holly wood lay against his skin. He followed Hermione to an empty classroom and they discussed their individual strengths and weaknesses.

"Your stunning spell could be a little more precise - I noticed you have a tendency to withdraw your hand a little before you begin the gesture. You should practise casting it without pulling your hand back first," Hermione pointed out.

"If I recall, you were the one who hesitated during our last duel," Harry mocked her, remembering how he could have lost if Hermione had not waited a moment to finish the fight, giving him time to get out of the way and retaliate.

"A minor fault I have corrected, it won't happen again," Hermione said with determination and then demonstrated to Harry how he threw his stunners, and how he needed to rectify his motions. They practised through the morning until lunch, refreshing various hexes and charms, testing them against Protego and similar defensive spells to find any weaknesses. When it was time for lunch, they were both a bit worn, but satisfied with their progress.

Harry found that intensive spell-casting had an effect on your appetite as well - or maybe he was just of the right age for eating excessively, as Petunia had claimed about Dudley for the last five years.

"We should probably rest up for tonight," Hermione said as they made their way to the great hall. Harry nodded absently, thinking about his potential opponents tonight. He had little idea as to who might challenge him; being ranked highest, he was eligible to be challenged by anybody. It seemed unlikely those who were ranked lowest would want to try their luck against him, but on the other hand, it would be worth more points to them if they could beat a high-ranking opponent.

The question would be if he should make any challenges of his own, or be defensive and only fight the duels he had to. Three duels in one night could be exhausting, if he was challenged the maximum amount of times possible; any challenges he made himself would add to that number, and Harry was not sure he had the stamina to fight more duels than that and still win.

Harry spent the afternoon sleeping, waking only in time for dinner. It felt a bit strange to go practically from one meal to the next. Harry had felt his concentration fail on other days due to lack of sleep though, so he accepted that it had been necessary for once. He did not eat too much at dinner, however, so he would not feel too full when the duellist club met.

When he was done with his meal, Harry walked with hurried steps back to his room, sat down on his bed and made final preparations. He was saving his physical strength for the coming duels, so his preparations were mental and practical. He took a potion of replenishment to bring with him, he thought about who was likely to challenge him and what he knew about their style of duelling, and he went over his own tactics as he had planned them out.

Eventually he realised that he was as prepared as he could be. He grabbed his things, checked his wand was in place under his sleeve, and moved down to the great hall that had once more been prepared for the duellist club. Many had also arrived early like him, though the atmosphere was different from last time.

Last time, none had known quite what to expect, and the anticipation had been almost tangible. Now, it felt more like a routine; apparently a thing only had to happen twice for that. People were talking more casually, instead of the hushed silence that had reigned some months ago. Instead of everybody sitting on the furniture, arranged like tribunes, people were more spread out, a few testing spells and discussing them.

Harry glanced around and saw the Ravenclaw twins, who were among those on their feet, doing spellwork. Looking around a bit further, he saw the Weasley twins, having taken seats along the wall. They were leaning back composed in a relaxed state almost in opposition to their usual high level of activity. Perhaps this was how they prepared for duels, Harry mused and went over, taking a seat with them.

"Any thoughts on tonight, Harry?" George - or Fred - asked casually.

"Not really," Harry said honestly. He had decided not to challenge anybody at first, wait and see how eager people were to challenge him. "I am making things up a bit as I go along."

"Never a bad strategy, that," one of the twins said, whom Harry managed to identify as George because he recognised he had worn those clothes earlier that day.

"Will you believe we have a tendency to do that as well," Fred said.

"I will believe that quite readily," Harry said with a smile, enjoying the easy rapport. He had been worried they might take Ron's side out of familial loyalty, but the Weasley twins had recognised it was a dispute between friends and not their business to worry about.

After a while, when it was almost time, Hermione came to the hall as well and took a seat next to Harry.

"You ready?" Harry asked.

"I think so," Hermione said. He wondered who, if any, she intended to go against; he realised she could challenge him, which would definitely be a challenge. Suddenly he started speculating if he should have prepared for that; she seemed confident, and he had barely managed to scratch a win out of their duel last time. She was possibly the opponent who stood the best chance of defeating him, knowing him so well. And if she wanted to challenge him, she would certainly have prepared for it.

Harry's mind raced with thoughts that were interrupted when Ron came down as well. He sent a glance towards Harry and Hermione, which Harry ignored, choosing to look away. When he looked back, Ron had sat down next to Ginny and now looked away himself. Ginny did not, however, returning Harry's gaze and making him feel a little nervous, though he was not sure what he was nervous about.

He looked away, towards the elevated area, where the teachers were taking their seats. Again half the faculty seemed to be present, basically all those who taught spells and magic that might be in use tonight - McGonagall, Flitwick, Moody and Snape in their capacity as duelling overseers, and to Harry's surprise also Waffling. The old wizard was a bit of a recluse, rarely taking meals in the great hall, but presumably got them delivered to his room. This was perhaps the first time Harry had seen him outside his classroom. He had not been the last time, but maybe he had been convinced to make an appearance; Harry saw him exchange words with Moody, with whom he was apparently on friendly terms.

Then Waffling turned and caught Harry's gaze; he was about to get almost flustered, feeling like he had been staring rudely, when Waffling gave a slight smile and then turned to look at Moody again. I guess I haven't given such a bad impression on him after all, Harry thought, who had feared that the teacher disliked him, because Harry had been given early entrance into his class due to Dumbledore's intervention.

But Harry knew the Ravenclaw twins were on good terms with Waffling, his protégés, one might say, and they usually sat next to Harry in class; they might even have told Waffling about Harry's experiments with enchanting Hermione's locket. Maybe some of his goodwill towards them had rubbed off on Harry, he thought.

Silence fell as Moody rose and opened the session. He briefly went over the rules for tonight, indicating towards the tiered roster at the other end of the hall. There would be two rounds, in which each person got to issue a challenge - only to somebody at their own tier or higher ranked. A person could only be challenged three times, and you could skip making your own challenges to others, if you wanted to conserve your strength. The lowest tiered got to start the round, and so those in fifth tier made their challenges one by one.

It happened rather conservatively, with none of them challenging anybody outside their own tier. Only when it was time for the duellists in the fourth tier did things become interesting. Ginny challenged Zabini Blaise and defeated him by a series of rapid manoeuvres Harry could barely keep up with. It took a discussion with Hermione to quite understand what happened; apparently, Zabini had a weakness when throwing his Protego that meant it was not quite as strong as it should be; certain hexes strained it, which Ginny had noticed and used to her advantage, bursting his Protego apart and then stunning him.

Ginny returned to her seat, blushing at the wide applause while Zabini took his seat with even the other Slytherins mocking him for losing to a fourth-year student; Harry saw even Moody leaning forward in his seat, his eye staring intently (then again, Moody's remaining natural eye knew no other way to look at things). Harry caught Ginny's eyes and sent her a big smile, which might have made her blush if she was not already doing that profusely.

Shortly after it was Ron's turn to issue a challenge, and he managed to create a bigger surprise than Ginny had; his target was Cedric Diggory, by most considered the favourite to be champion. Cedric himself seemed a little uncertain too, but drew his wand and stepped into the open area opposite Ron. They bowed slightly, wands ready.

At the signal, Cedric did his customary defensive routine. Ward runes inscribed on the ground behind him to protect and warn him in his blind spot, the vague mist that obscured vision slightly and made it hard to aim accurately, a perfectly cast Protego. Ron did likewise with wards, though not as thoroughly as Cedric did. He began his barrage of hexes, before Cedric commenced with his own, as per his now established strategy from previous duels.

A counter had been devised, summoning a gust of wind that blew the fog apart and made everything clearly visible; but Cedric had shown himself adept to adapt, either conjuring the fog back immediately or switching tactics, aiming powerful curses at his opponent to prevent them from following up. So far he was undefeated, and if anybody were taking odds, Harry would have bet his Galleons on Cedric.

Fortunately, Harry made no wager (he did not want to jeopardise his friendship with the Weasleys by taking their bets, in case he won money from them, for he knew he could far more afford to lose a hundred Galleons than they could a single one). Ron had clearly been testing the kind of wards that Cedric used, and knew how they would react. He summoned the wind as others had done before, but managed a rather impressive feat where the origin point of the wind was behind Cedric.

Normally, summons of such kind would emanate from the wand, and thus in front of Cedric; to choose another spot, even one close by, as the focal point of your magic, was most difficult. The ward reacted first, warning Cedric that magic was being utilised behind him, and Cedric spun around to face this attack; then a fraction of a second later, the wind appeared and blew the fog apart, leaving him exposed.

The exact moment that happened, Ron stood ready, his timing perfect as he knew what would happen. Hexes that bypassed Protego were thrown, throwing Cedric off-balance and making it impossible to defend against Ron's follow-up. There was silence for a moment until applause broke out, half the people cheering in admiration for Ron, the other half cheering because they had wanted to see Cedric defeated. Ron waved his hand with a rather sheepish grin on his face as he moved back to his seat.

Harry stood stunned a little, but then clapped as well, deciding he might as well act decent - no need to act petty just because they weren't on speaking terms. Hermione got up and moved over to Ron to congratulate him, which made his smile widen, and in turn made it sting a little in Harry; his feelings of nobility from a moment before evaporated quickly.

Harry chose not to challenge any, conserving his strength and observing others instead. It was clear that much could be learned from studying ones opponents, and Harry had done that poorly so far. Both Ginny and Ron had won spectacular victories from exploiting weaknesses; and while Harry could not expect to know any opponents ahead, improving his skills of observation was bound to be useful.

Hermione returned after a little while and together they discussed each duel and spells, sharing everything they noticed. Hermione also did not challenge anybody, but was herself challenged by Fabian Prewett, whom she managed to defeat narrowly. It was always considered impressive when a younger student beat an older one, given the natural disadvantage in training and spells learned, and Hermione earned quite an applause too. Of course, most did not know about the unofficial duelling club, which had levelled the disadvantage Hermione might otherwise have suffered.

"Well done," Harry said, in a way regretting that he could not hug her the way she had hugged Ron after his victory; it would just have seemed weird, coming from him.

"Thank you kindly," Hermione said, playing casual though Harry could see she was out of breath. She had been right not to challenge anybody, Harry guessed. Competition seemed a lot fiercer this time than the last, with everybody understanding how it worked and having had months to prepare.

The next round started. Ginny took another victory, and so did Neville, which made Harry applaud loudly. He knew how hard Neville had worked, and felt like he imagined the coach of a sports player might feel, like he had had a hand in how well Neville was doing. The latter winked at Harry on his way off the stage and sat down next to him.

"Well done, Neville," Harry said, genuinely happy at how well he had done.

"Thanks, Harry, sorry I didn't sit here before; didn't see you before now," Neville said, taking his responsibility seriously of keeping Harry company.

"S'alright," Harry said. His mind was on whether he should challenge any himself this round; he would not get another chance, and if nobody challenged him, he would not duel at all this round. This meant no points and he would most likely slip behind. His decision process was interrupted by a ginger voice.

"I challenge Harry Potter," said Ron.


End file.
